Total Immersion
by CadenceSnow
Summary: Hermione must capture a serial killer who begins toying with her life. Along the way she falls for an unlikely wizard. LM/HG Lemons.
1. Compulsion

**Chapter One**

Compulsion

Hermione waved her wand, and her nostrils went numb. The spell ensured she wouldn't be able to smell the reek that was about to pour from the house. She'd smelled death too many times to count, but that didn't mean she _wanted_ to.

Ginny peeled back the wards layer by layer, and the instant they fell a hearty wind slammed into the witches. Maybe the reek wouldn't be as horrendous as Hermione imagined. The wards had hermetically sealed the house.

_To preserve the freshness of the bodies_, Hermione thought. In that case the killer had probably posed his victims. He wanted others to see what he'd accomplished, and he wanted that accomplishment to last. Hence the need to place the bodies in stasis, where neither time or decay could touch them. Of course, she could be wrong; she hadn't stepped foot into the house yet. But she didn't think she was wrong.

When she was a rookie, such dark thoughts would have made her skin crawl. Nowadays morbid thoughts like this were just another day on the job. With enough contact a person could grow accustomed to anything, no matter how horrific.

"Thanks for cracking the wards, Gin," she said, but she was distracted. She was on the threshold, about to enter the killer's domain. Excitement burgeoned in her belly. One thing she never told another soul was that she was more interested in the killer than the victim. She cared about the victims, but it was delving into the killer's mind that fascinated her most.

Ginny dropped a hand onto Hermione's shoulder. "Don't become too lost in work. You promised you'd come to dinner tonight."

"I'll try," she said, without glancing back at her friend, and took that first, crucial step over the threshold. Her stomach couldn't decide whether to leap into her throat or plunge into her bowels. The mixture of dread and anticipation was always a thrill.

This was something she'd learned about herself-she was a thrill seeker. A boring desk job would have never satisfied her.

The need for a thrill started her first year at Hogwarts when Harry and Ron defeated the mountain troll in the loo. Granted, she'd cowered in the corner, but that jolt of adrenalin had skewered through her all the same. That year, and every year following she lived with the spice of looming danger, and she acquired a taste for it. Robbing Gringott's and invading the Ministry were examples of the rush she'd grown accustomed to.

And then there was "eighth" year. To say that it was dull would have been a gross understatement. Voldemort was dead and the spice was gone. She wanted to crawl up and down the walls she was so restless. The lack of stimulation was mind-numbing; not even her studies excited her in the way she needed. Which was why she promptly joined the Auror training program after graduation.

Her career eventually led her to the most frightening, and therefore most fascinating, realm she had ever encountered: the mind of a killer. What was it like to crave killing? To fantasize about cutting or strangling or _chopping_ another human being? What was it like to be devoid of a conscience? And most interestingly, what caused a person to become so twisted? Was it nature or nurture or both?

The mind, save the universe, was the last undiscovered territory. Hermione saw herself as an explorer, wandering through the depths of the killers' Darkness.

_Don't become too lost_, Ginny had said. She had no idea how right she was when she warned Hermione of that.

Hermione moved down a corridor and paused when it spilled into a vast parlor. A stained glass window hovered upon the far wall. It depicted a black rose nestled amongst vines and thorns and leaves. Sunlight spilled through the glass, casting colored beams of light upon the bodies. Each beam spotlighted specific body parts.

She whistled. If anyone else had been present they would have been taken aback by how impressed that whistle sounded. She had seen many weird things during her career, but this was a new one. _The killer deserves a gold star for creativity_, she mused. It was a difficult feat indeed to introduce her to something original.

The victims were frozen in a carnal act-it was like looking at a photograph in a Muggle porn magazine. Both were Caucasian, attractive, and in their early to mid twenties. They were nude and locked in the missionary position, having been posed after death as she'd suspected. But rather than being posed in a bedroom, which would be the logical place, they were left 'on display' in the parlor.

Their faces were set into expressions of extreme pleasure-what Hermione regarded as mid coital bliss. This was how a person looked right before climax, when the nerves were alive and raw as they swept toward the inevitable peak.

Her gaze flowed about the rest of the room, and a flash of blue caught her attention. Resting on a nearby table was a carafe filled with a sapphire colored liquid. Beside it were two shot glasses. Tiny puddles of the blue liquid were at the bottom of the glasses, and one glass had red lipstick smeared on the rim.

Knowing better than to touch the carafe, she performed a number of diagnostic spells to determine if it was cursed or hexed or otherwise afflicted with a malefic spell. It was not. Even so, she Shrank and Levitated the carafe without making physical contact, and once it was safely stowed inside an evidence pouch, she slipped the pouch into her evidence kit.

"This is a new one," said a voice, but she didn't jolt. She had expected Draco to make an appearance. When she called him on her two-way mirror prior to entering the residence, he was otherwise engaged-in other words, he was in bed with yet another witch. He had a busy social life, at least where the ladies were concerned.

Two years after Draco graduated from Hogwarts, Minister Shacklebolt allowed him to join the Auror training program. Draco was denied a number of times prior, so his sudden acceptance made Hermione suspicious. Sometimes she wondered if he bribed Shacklebolt, but she had never asked.

Before Draco entered the field, the division's mind healer suggested that he and Hermione would be compatible partners. Based on that recommendation, she and Draco were forced into their partnership. It was rough going at first, but in the end the mind healer was correct. They worked very well together, even better than she'd worked with Harry.

She knew why. Draco, much like herself, was comfortable exploring the Darkness. Harry was not after having a mental link with Voldemort all those years. Not that it really mattered any more, as last year Harry became head of the Auror division. He had the desk job Hermione would have despised, but which seemed to suit him just fine.

Draco leaned down to examine the bodies, a deep furrow between his brows. "Who found them?"

"The homeowner, Ms. Wintlow, returned from holiday and couldn't enter the residence because of the wards." Hermione was positive the killer had erected the wards in order to preserve his handiwork and prevent Ms. Wintlow from entering the house. The wards were an advanced type, which was why the division had called in Ginny to crack them. "Ms. Wintlow was clever enough to perform a magical scan, which alerted her that two dead life forms were inside. She contacted the division after that."

Hermione pointed to the shot glasses. "Do you recognize the blue substance?"

Draco was much better at identifying potions than she was. This was something she never would have admitted prior to their partnership, but now she depended on his keen mind to help her solve cases. Their solve rate was the highest of the division, so Harry always assigned them the worst of the lot. Neither Hermione or Draco complained since they preferred a challenge.

From the corner of her eye she watched him move over to the glasses to examine the liquid inside. Was it possible for a man to be so perfect he was no longer as attractive as he otherwise would have been? Yes, it was, and Draco was proof. No matter where her gaze landed there was nothing to see but absolute flawlessness.

In her opinion the occasional imperfection enhanced a man's attractiveness rather than detracting from it. Severus Snape was an excellent example of this. His nose was too large, but somehow it had made him striking. It helped that he had other features that were attractive.

_Were_ being the operative word, as he died in the Shrieking Shack during the final battle. To his dying breath he cherished Lily Potter's memory, and his capacity to love had left an indelible impression upon Hermione.

More than once she'd wished a man could love her as fiercely as he loved Lily, but it wasn't to be. Hermione worked an average of twelve to sixteen hours a day. The only man she was exposed to on a regular basis was Draco, but she wasn't attracted to Draco in that way.

Luckily she was much too busy to worry about how lonely she was.

Severus Snape had left another impression on Hermione as well-it was because of him that she invented her immersive technique. Prior to his death, Professor Snape gave Harry a batch of pensieve memories. Until Harry described what the pensieve memories contained, she thought Snape was a cold-blooded killer. But once she learned what his life had really been like, and how he had suffered, her perceptions of him shifted drastically. She felt as if she finally understood him.

Which had given her an idea.

Her immersive technique was similar to Muggle criminal profiling, but was much more in-depth. In order to better understand how the mind of a killer worked, profilers learned how the murders were committed, studied the killers and their victims, and interviewed the killers themselves. After compiling this information they began to notice patterns of behavior, which would better help them predict the behavior of killers in general.

But Hermione was not as limited as Muggle profilers. She took it a step further and collected actual memories from killers-everything from moments from their childhoods to the murders they committed-which she viewed in her pensieve. The more memories she viewed, the easier it was for her to slip into a specific killer's state of mind.

While Draco was busy examining the mystery liquid, she noted another detail about the crime scene. The victims' clothing was neatly folded and left on an end table. She didn't upset the piles, but it appeared to be organized according to victim. The female's pile consisted of a jumper, skirt, bra, and a pair of modest, black flats. It didn't escape Hermione's notice that the knickers were missing. Perhaps the killer had taken them as a trophy.

The male victim's pile contained a black t-shirt with a white logo on the front-she couldn't quite see it because the shirt was folded, but she thought it might be a flower of some kind-trousers, boxers, white socks, and trainers.

There were no robes in sight, but this wasn't a surprise. A few years after the war it became trendy to abandon traditional wizarding garb. Even the upper echelon of the wizarding world had begun to wear Muggle inspired fashions. It wasn't unusual to see witches in dresses and gowns that had recently been shown on a Muggle catwalk.

If the killer had avoided using magic, folding the clothing like this had taken several moments to do. _He folded them by hand_, she thought a second later. She wasn't sure why she was so certain, only that her instincts told her and she believed. Sometimes she experienced flashes of insight that had no logical explanation, but were eventually proven correct. She'd learned to trust them.

Next to the clothing was a wand. Either one of the victims was a Muggle, or the killer had taken the other wand along with the knickers.

"I recognize the potion," said Draco.

She had forgotten he was in the room. For a moment there she forgot she had a physical body. The process had begun-the immersion into the killer's frame of mind. Sometimes it swallowed her whole.

Draco had gone pale, and that was saying something considering his alabaster skin. The fact that he had a visible reaction at all was out of the ordinary; he had the unreadable Malfoy mask honed to perfection. What had caused Draco's marked response?

"This potion is my father's creation. I overheard him discussing it with Mother once when I was a boy. Later I snuck into his lab and examined the potion. It looked and smelled exactly like this. He called it Compulsion. "

Ah. That explained Draco's unusual reaction. He often reacted out of character when Lucius Malfoy was involved.

"Your father invented potions?" She knew Lucius had an affinity for them-an affinity he had passed down to his son-but she didn't know he had that level of skill.

"He used to dabble."

That would be during the brief peace between Voldemort's defeat by an infant Harry Potter and his subsequent resurrection during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Or so she guessed. She couldn't see Lucius "dabbling" after Voldemort returned to the flesh.

"What does Compulsion do?" she asked, though she was beginning to have an idea based on the crime scene.

"Father never actually perfected it," said Draco, and swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed. "Someone must have found his notes..."

"Why are you avoiding the question?"

He managed a faint smirk, though there was a sickly cast to it. "I do appreciate your bluntness."

"It saves time." She stared at him then, prodding him to continue with her eyes but willing to be patient. It had been a long while since she'd seen Draco so visibly ruffled, so she would not be blunt _and_ terse, not when he was upset like this.

They had been partners for seven years, and one day she'd woken up and realized he was her best friend. It was to be expected considering she spent more waking hours with him than anyone else in her life, and vice versa. Ginny often joked that Hermione and Draco were "attached at the hip."

No one believed them when they said they'd never shagged, Ginny especially. If Hermione had a galleon for every time Ginny demanded the naughty details of the shagging that never actually occurred, she would be far wealthier than she was.

"Father developed it to enhance sex," said Draco. "He wanted it to prolong orgasms, but the potion didn't work the way he envisioned."

"Then what does it really do?"

Draco didn't look quite as disturbed as he had before, which Hermione was glad to see. "The cause of death offers the answer to that question."

Hermione had yet to perform the CoD spell. It was her routine to examine other details of the crime scene first. Draco apparently had performed the spell, though. "How did they die?" she asked.

"They starved to death."

She frowned. "Are you saying they literally shagged for so long they starved to death? They didn't stop, not even for sustenance?"

"One of the reasons Father abandoned the potion was because it caused compulsive behavior, hence the name. It constantly stimulates the pleasure center of the brain, that area where an orgasm is actually created. His test subjects-and before you ask, they were lab rats-ended up like this." Draco gestured to the victims, frozen mid coitus. "They were so absorbed in the pleasure they literally forgot to eat or drink."

"Constant copulation," she said, and quirked one side of her mouth. "Sounds like your private life, Malfoy."

Sometimes a joke helped to alleviate tension, and it worked in this instance. Draco's body relaxed a little, and this time he managed a full-on Malfoy smirk. "If you'd ever like to find out for yourself-"

"Not going to happen." She turned away then to collect her thoughts. "Our killer administers the potion to his two victims. Then he sits back and watches them shag each other to death." She pointed to a nearby arm chair. "He sits here and watches his own personal porno."

"Why doesn't he join in?"

"This chair has been moved." She showed Draco the indentions in the carpet where the chair had once rested. "He has moved it as far away from the couple as he can without actually leaving the room. The back of the chair is touching the wall, almost as if he fears the nearness. It is what he wants more than anything…to touch. But he is too intimidated."

"Why would any man be afraid to touch a beautiful woman?"

Hermione made one of her intuitive leaps. "Rejection. If enough beautiful girls rejected him while he was growing up, they would be seen as something he desires, yet something that brings pain. The fear of pain overrides the impulse to touch, but not the sexual impulse in itself. So he became a voyeur. He was probably caught peeping through someone's window at one time or another. He might have a record."

"He's definitely meticulous," said Draco. "Everything is clean and in order. He even cast a number of cleansing spells on the victims. He wanted them to look attractive."

"This is an intelligent man, whoever he is. He planned this to the smallest detail. He handpicked the victims and brought them here to this place." She was immersing again, slipping away. She blinked, forcing herself back to reality. "Start identifying the victims. We need to figure out how they were lured here."

She wasn't his boss, and if he wasn't in the mood to acquiesce he would tell her so. He didn't object, so she continued. "I'll be in Azkaban if you need me."

The name of the prison made Draco's fingers twitch. The tiniest bit, but Hermione saw.


	2. To Azkaban

Disclaimer—I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters.

Chapter Two

To Azkaban

Azkaban had changed drastically since the war. The Dementors were no longer sucking out the prisoners' souls. They were replaced by human guards who were expected to treat the prisoners humanely, and this rule was strictly enforced. Now it was similar to a Muggle prison. The food was horrendous, but the convicts were allowed books and other means of entertainment in their cells, they were allowed visitors, and each was given an hour a day outside.

Hermione visited Azkaban more often than she would have liked. Changes or no changes, there was an eeriness to the place. It was as if the sheer amount of suffering that occurred there had permanently tainted the prison.

Upon Hermione's arrival a guard escorted her to the lift and pressed the appropriate button. The guard was a plump witch in the required black uniform robe. Her gray hair was in a tight bun, making her cheeks look all the more round. She had a maternal vibe that seemed out of place in Azkaban.

Down they plunged, stopping on the lowest level so abruptly Hermione's guts jumped. She shadowed the guard along a wide corridor flanked by metal doors. There were small portholes through which to see into the cells and narrow flaps through which the guards slipped the prisoners' meals.

A chill swirled about, and Hermione resisted an urge to rub at the gooseflesh on her arms. The air was so moist she expected to look around and see dew shining on the walls.

The silence, save the sounds of their footsteps, was a bit unnerving. So far the duo had remained quiet as they made their way down the long corridor, but when the guard turned to her and beamed, Hermione knew the silence was about to be broken.

"I'm Pearl Farthington," she said. They shook hands, and Pearl had quite the firm grip. Hermione's fingers throbbed from the pressure of it. "It's an honor to meet you. My granddaughter wants to grow up to be just like you. You're her hero."

Hermione smiled politely and refrained from mentioning how much she disliked being labeled a hero. She was glad when the handshake ended. "No offense, but you seem out of place here. What happened to Quintus?"

Quintus Finch was a handsome young guard she'd exchanged pleasantries with on a number of occasions. Hermione had grown accustomed to him escorting her wherever she needed to go within the prison.

"He quit a few days ago. I'm his replacement," said Pearl, and stopped at the cell at the end of the hall. She placed a palm to the door and there was a flare of white light the instant her hand made contact. The wards had read her magical signature-every witch and wizard had a signature as unique as their fingerprints-and had allowed her entrance. Only those with specific signatures could open the doors.

"Nose to the wall and hands behind your back," Pearl said to the prisoner, once she disappeared inside the cell. Her voice sounded as sweet and grandmotherly as ever. A moment later Pearl poked her head out. "You may enter."

The cell contained a twin sized bed with a ridiculously thin mattress, and a desk covered in books, reams of parchment, and a bundle of rolled canvases.

It also contained Lucius Malfoy. He sat ramrod straight on his thin mattress, a set of magical handcuffs binding his wrists and ankles. His bound hands were in his lap, and the cuffs radiated a flickering, violet light. Every time Hermione saw that light she was reminded of the _Cruciatus_.

After the war Lucius was sentenced to ten years in Azkaban, compliments of the Wizengamot. The fact that he was imprisoned rather than executed literally caused a riot in Hogsmeade. Luckily no one was killed, but several of the rioters were injured.

Over a decade had passed since the final battle, but the public at large continued to loathe ex-Death Eaters, particularly Lucius Malfoy. He had become a lightning rod for their hatred, since he was the Dark Lord's right hand for so long.

His eyes swiveled in her direction and paused once they reached her own. She was taken aback when there was not a hint of hatred in them. Then again, he was probably bored out of his mind. Anything that posed a distraction from the grind of prison existence was welcome.

Even if that distraction was a mudblood?

"Knock when you're ready to leave," said Pearl, and glided out of the cell.

It seemed Pearl didn't expect Lucius to cause a problem, and rightly so. He was bound and unarmed and the wards were designed to forbid him from using magic. Even if he could manage a wandless spell it wouldn't fire due to the prison's formidable wards. Aurors, on the other hand, were allowed to use magic within Azkaban if necessary, and their wands were not confiscated.

Hermione always carried a back-up weapon so it wasn't a major issue if her wand was confiscated, though she much preferred keeping it. A goblin forged dagger was tucked in her knee high, dragonhide boot. Coincidentally, Lucius's gaze had trailed down to her boots, and he seemed to approve of them. Of course he would. They had were outrageously expensive.

Hermione wasn't the most feminine of women. She worked in a male dominated field and had little opportunity to wear gowns and jewels, but she did love shoes. She had more pairs than she could ever wear, and she had expensive taste. These boots were her favorite and had cost her two paychecks. She had to spend her money on something, after all. She was single and had no children to overindulge.

She took an extra evidence pouch and Transfigured it into a chair. Then she settled in and crossed her legs, the leather of her trench coat whispering as she did so. She met Lucius's eyes directly, her professional mask in place. "Hello, Mr. Malfoy."

"Auror Granger," he said. No hint of rancor or loathing lurked in his tone.

Warning bells sounded in her head. Lucius was the biggest bigot of them all. He should have been more hostile toward her. Instead he continued to sit on the thin mattress with that elegant posture Draco had inherited.

Despite a decade in prison, this was not a bedraggled man. He was bulkier and broader than his son, and his long, platinum hair framed a face that was slightly too masculine to be considered beautiful.

On his neck, stretching from ear to ear, was a thick, precise scar, as if someone had slit his throat. Here was the imperfection his son lacked. Lucius probably despised the scar when it was the very thing that made him more interesting to look at. He must have concealed it with glamours prior to his incarceration, since Hermione had never seen it before. Now that he was in prison he wasn't afforded that luxury.

She examined him through an objective lense and had to admit he was gorgeous. Too bad he was a sadistic psychopath.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked finally.

They had both been examining one another, and she wondered what conclusion he drew from examining her. He would see a petite woman with an hour glass shape dressed in black from head to toe. Hermione's dark hair was permanently straightened in eighth year, and it was the best thing she'd ever done for her appearance. Now it was hip length, but she swept into a high ponytail for work.

"It's interesting that you mention pleasure," she said. He cocked one brow-such a trademark Malfoy move-while she retrieved the carafe from her pocket and returned it to its former size. "I assume you recognize this potion? Seeing as how you are its creator."

He said nothing, but he stared at the carafe floating between them.

"Someone loved your potion so much they decided to dose two people with it. You understand what happened afterward," she went on.

"They're dead, I'm sure."

There was not a trace of compassion in his tone, but he was no monster. She had encountered men who truly were monsters-cannibals, child rapists and killers, necrophiliacs…even Lucius had a line he wouldn't cross.

She examined her surroundings, paying more attention to detail than she had before, and nearly crooked her own brow when she noticed her book on his desk. It was on the top of the pile like he'd been reading it recently.

Published five years ago, the book described her immersive techniques and outlined her research. Why did Lucius have a copy? She might have assumed Draco sent it to him, but Draco hadn't contacted his father since he was imprisoned.

Draco was not the only Malfoy who no longer associated with Lucius. Two years after Lucius was incarcerated, his wife, Narcissa, filed for divorce and moved to France with a lover twenty years her junior. Draco despised the younger man, who had eventually become Narcissa's second husband. He did admit that the two actually seemed to love one another, as opposed to his parents, who had only married because it was arranged by their families.

Before meeting Lucius, Hermione had checked Azkaban's registry and was surprised to find that not one person had visited him in the last eight years. It seemed he had no one left.

Hermione Summoned parchment and quill from her bottomless pouch and returned her attention to Lucius again. He had stopped staring at the carafe and was now staring at her. It was very intense, so intense in fact that she almost felt as if he was peering _into_ her. But it still wasn't hostile, strangely enough.

"What happened to your notes? Did you give them to anyone?" she asked.

"If you expect me to submit to an interrogation without legal counsel..."

"This is not an interrogation. This is a friendly discussion." She smiled and tapped her fingers on her knee.

Lucius ignored her smile-a smile which even she had to admit was a bit sarcastic-and wiped invisible lint from his robe. If she was to describe his demeanor, she would have called it _polite indifference_. Of course, it was all a façade; he clearly had something up his sleeve. "I will waive my right to legal counsel as long as you accept the terms I now offer."

In spite of herself, she was intrigued. "And what terms are you offering?"

"If you agree to visit me tomorrow for at least one hour, I will tell you anything you want to know."

This made her blink in confusion, but she quickly recovered. "Why would you want me, _a mudblood_, to visit you again?"

He disregarded the question. "Do we have an accord?"

Hermione wasn't sure what angle Lucius was working, but she was sure he had one. He was a former Slytherin.; cunning and sneaky didn't even begin to describe him. She had to admit that she was now more curious than ever. What was he up to?

"Fine, Mr. Malfoy. We have an accord."

"My notes were destroyed," he said immediately.

She gestured to the floating carafe. "Destroyed? Then how do you explain this?"

"I incinerated them myself in 1990. I also incinerated any existing potion."

"Then how did the killer manage to recreate Compulsion?"

"There was another copy of the recipe."

"Couldn't you have said that to begin with?" she asked. She had leaned back, striking a casual pose that belied how closely she was scrutinizing him. People communicated more with their eyes, body language, and tone of voice than with words. Lucius, however was inscrutable. She might not have been able to read him at all if it wasn't for her close relationship with Draco, as the two were so similar.

"There isn't much to do here, as you can imagine. One night I entertained myself by writing down everything I could remember about the recipe. I thought I might be able to determine what had gone wrong with it. Perhaps a new combination of ingredients would have perfected it…Two days later I meant to work on it again, and that's when I discovered the notes were missing. That was three months ago."

If he was telling the truth, then only a guard or another Auror could have stolen the recipe. No one else had access to his cell. "You're certain it was three months ago?"

The wards were designed to record the movements of everyone in the prison. Information such as who entered what cells and when was transferred to special scrolls. She could easily check the scrolls to see who entered Malfoy's cell around the time he claimed the notes went missing.

"Quite sure. I filed a complaint, as I believed it was illegally confiscated. The warden's official position is that the notes never existed. As if I would lie about something like that."

"Lucius Malfoy would never lie, now would he?" she asked, and was surprised by him once again when his eyes lit up with amusement.

"In this case I am being forthright."

She wondered at how amused he appeared. It was almost as if he liked her…but that was impossible. She was a Muggle-born, and Lucius Malfoy hated Muggle-borns so much he'd killed several of them. No one except he, and perhaps the late Dark Lord, knew precisely how many murders he'd committed. Even so, Hermione suspected his kill count was high.

"You must have been attached to your potion to resurrect it after all these years in order to work on it again," she said. "You could change an ingredient here and there, but you wouldn't have access to the equipment or the test subjects to determine if your changes worked. Maybe you gave your notes to someone else. Someone who could brew the potion and test it for you."

"I never used Compulsion on human test subjects. I used lab rats."

Hermione wondered how he managed to gauge a rat's level of arousal while experimenting with the potion, then quickly decided she didn't want to know.

"Furthermore, I have a month remaining of my sentence," he said. "It would be foolish of me to do anything illegal, especially commit murder, when I'm so close to being released."

"It was foolish to become a Death Eater. It was foolish to involve your son with the Dark Lord. You _are_ foolish, Mr. Malfoy."

She was purposely provoking him, hoping that if she angered him he might slip up and reveal something. But rather than become careless with anger, he went cold. This was the Lucius Malfoy she remembered-the man who could kill without blinking. It was eerie how quickly he could switch from amused Lucius to cold Lucius.

Her chest was suddenly bouncing with little, warm butterflies that only intensified when his stony eyes bored into her. Shock went through her when she realized how she'd responded to him. How could such coldness provoke such heat in her? How could she be attracted to him when he acted like this? Was she so addicted to a thrill that she now preferred men who were dangerous killers?

The mere notion that she might be attracted to Lucius Malfoy made her feel queasy and disturbed.

"I find it interesting that you refer to him as the Dark Lord. Only his followers refer to him as such," said Lucius.

That was true. Everyone but his minions called him Voldemort or You-Know-Who. Mostly the latter, as people were afraid to say his name even now.

"You've spent so much time in Death Eater minds you're using the vernacular."

That was also true. When she first began using her immersive technique, she interviewed a number of the ex-Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban. She had also collected their memories, and she'd watched them kill and torture in a hundred different ways. They always referred to Voldemort as the Dark Lord, and it had rubbed off on her.

"It must be difficult to distinguish between yourself and the killer you're studying," he continued.

She feigned a lack of interest, when in actuality she was disconcerted Lucius had understood that about her. Not even Draco seemed to realize how easily she lost herself when immersed in a killer's mind. "Yes, when I gaze into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze at me," she said in a bored tone.

"Nietzsche had some interesting philosophies, did he not?"

"His philosophies were a little dark for my taste."

"I doubt that very much, Miss Granger. You're drawn to Darkness."

Hermione wanted to shift in her seat, but remained motionless. She refused to show him how much his perceptiveness bothered her. "What did you intend for the potion to do?"

Something to the query made him switch back to amused Lucius. Again she was boggled by how swiftly he could transition between the two personas. Was his amused incarnation even real or was it an act? Most likely an act, she decided. As before, she doubted he could actually like her, much less enjoy her company.

"I imagined a potion that could extend orgasms," he said. "Orgasms that stretched for thirty seconds, for example, rather than only one or two seconds."

This explained his desire to perfect his creation. "A potion like that would be worth millions if introduced to the market."

"The potion does extend orgasms…but there are unwanted side effects, as you have seen."

"Unwanted?" she said, and snorted. "The victims shagged for so long they starved to death. They literally could not stop."

"Yes, that is what happened to the rats. So you see, whoever stole my notes did not attempt to alter Compulsion. They used it as a weapon. I'm certain if you were to compare my recipe to the potion the killer used, they would match precisely. But I believe you know that already. The killer isn't interested in changing it. He's having too much fun using the potion as it is."

There were two types of killers. Some, like Fenrir Grayback for example, were known as Bulldogs. Bulldogs became so excited when they murdered they lost control. They fell into their rage and their lust and the thrill of bloodshed.

Lucius was the second type. Known as a Cobra-a snake, of course-his heart rate would barely accelerate when he murdered or tortured. He would not lose himself in the experience. He was calculating, and clever, and in control until his victims took their last breath. This was an executioner, someone who could murder without hesitation and without a sliver of emotion.

A chill danced on the back of her neck, and yet, those warm butterflies began to dance inside her as well. "If you don't mind, I would like you to share the recipe with me," she said, and more stiffly than she would have liked.

After a pause he began reciting ingredients and brewing instructions, which her quill faithfully recorded on parchment. The quill was not only automatic, but if Lucius lied it would alert her.

Hermione Shrunk the carafe and stowed it in her trench coat. She tried not to ponder those butterflies he'd caused in her, nor did she wish to ponder that chill on the back of her neck. For a moment she had been frightened of him and aroused by him at the same time.

She had become adept at ignoring the things that troubled her, at least where her personal life was concerned, and it was easy to shove aside her disturbing reaction to Lucius Malfoy. Instead she focused on the case.

Lucius was correct-she had no doubt the potion in the carafe would perfectly match the recipe he was reciting. It was possible he could have given the recipe to someone for the specific purpose of murdering two people, but why would he do that?

She considered the notion but swept it aside. The killer was not the type to have a partner. He also wasn't the type to follow Lucius Malfoy's orders, not even for galleons. This wasn't about money. This was about making the killer's perverse fantasies come to life.

Which meant he had brewed the potion alone. She would have to determine how difficult a potion it was to brew. If it was difficult then their killer was an accomplished potions maker. This would offer yet another clue to his identity.

"Once the subjects were under the effects of the potion would they be aware enough to follow commands?" she asked.

"It's doubtful," said Malfoy after some consideration. "But if the killer wanted to control what the victims did he could have cast an _Imperius_ to redirect their activities."

"He would want to control everything they did," she said, now speaking more to herself than Malfoy. "Just as in his everyday life. He's in a position of authority, I think. He needs to always be in control, perhaps because he was once helpless…"

"An ambitious man, then. A powerful man, but he was not always so. He could be a member of the Wizengamot. Possibly the Ministry."

This had already occurred to her. What also occurred to her was that she had been theorizing about the killer with Lucius Malfoy of all wizards. Seeing as how he was a suspect, that was not the best idea.

"I have a memory for you," he said. "To view in your pensieve." It seemed he had at least read a portion of her book, since he knew she collected memories for her research.

"Does the memory have anything to do with the case?"

"No."

"Why should I care to understand _you_, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, her tone was as dry as sandpaper.

Hermione had interviewed over fifty killers, including former Death Eaters, but in the beginning of her research she avoided the Death Eaters altogether. It would be more difficult to maintain her objectivity with them, as the war was still too fresh in her mind. By the time her psychological wounds healed enough that she could maintain her objectivity, Draco was her partner. He would disapprove of Hermione interacting with Lucius, and out of respect for Draco she hadn't considered it.

And yet, now that she'd met Lucius in the flesh once again, she realized he could potentially be one of her most fascinating subjects. She had no intention of revealing this to him, though.

He chuckled. "I see why my son is in love with you."

At that, she jolted. Only by a margin, but Lucius had noticed, no doubt. "We're partners, nothing more."

"That's obvious from the photographs I've seen in the _Daily Prophet_. It's also obvious from those photographs that Draco wishes you were more but that you would reject his advances. Why would you reject Draco? He is attractive. Intelligent. And the two of you are close after working together for so many years."

"Perhaps you should discuss this with Draco rather than me." This was a purposeful dig. She didn't like that Lucius had been able to knock her off balance several times during their discussion.

"Collect the memory," he said, as if he hadn't heard her. "I am the precise sort of man you've devoted years of your life to studying."

Acquiescing to his suggestion would only allow him to toy with her. This was all part of his plan, though what that plan was remained a mystery. He was using her curiosity to his advantage, but to what end? If she refused the memory she would never know.

When she approached him, he was careful not to show any emotion at all, but she knew Draco very, very well, and many of his mannerisms were learned at his father's knee. Therefore she noticed the flicker of triumph on Lucius's face before he could conceal it. He believed Hermione was playing right into his hands, but he would eventually realize that in a match of wits she was his equal, if not his better.

_Careful_, a voice inside advised. _Pride before a fall_…

Lucius Malfoy was a clever and dangerous wizard, but she was just as dangerous and clever. If he wanted to play she would accept the challenge.

Hermione pressed her wand to his temple, and the memory poured from his mind in a mercury colored wisp. She placed the liquid in a vial from her evidence kit, and into her pocket it went.

"As per our agreement I will return tomorrow for at least one hour," she said. She turned to knock on the cell door, her trench coat swirling at her ankles.

"Auror Granger," called Lucius. Hermione didn't turn, but she did pause. "Nice boots."

That startled a laugh out of her.


	3. Defilement

Disclaimer—I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters.

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and put this story on alert!_

Chapter Three

Defilement

"How did you manage to convince Father to give you a memory about the case?" Draco asked. He and Hermione had just met at a café in Hogsmeade to guzzle prodigious amounts of espresso while discussing the murders.

"This memory is not about the case," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't become involved with Father. He excels at manipulation. Everything he does has a purpose."

"I'm not that easy to manipulate. And he _is_ the sort of man I've studied for years." She moved the vial back and forth, watching the silvery liquid roll around inside.

"Anything Father offers is suspect."

"I know." She slipped the vial back into her pocket. "What did you learn about the victims?"

He paused as if he meant to say something more about Lucius, but he decided against it. "The wizard was called Shane Worth. He worked at The Lotus."

"The Lotus?"

"It's a club. Witches and wizards go there to dance and drink…you really need a social life."

She recalled the t-shirt from the crime scene with the flower logo on the front. It could have been a lotus. "Who was the witch?"

"Morta Redvine. She was a pure-blood. I met her once, actually, at one function or another my parents insisted I attend. Morta was a child at the time. Didn't recognize her as a woman." He shook his head, and his fingers tightened around his cup. "Apparently she fell for a Muggle-born who had barely a galleon to his name. I have no idea who the Muggle-born is, but I've already sent out feelers to identify him."

"She wasn't married then?"

Most pure-bloods married almost as soon as they graduated. As archaic as the practice was, many pure-blood families still arranged their children's marriages. Morta had somehow escaped that fate, and even had the gall to fall in love with a Muggle-born-and a poor one at that.

"No. Her family disowned her because she refused to stop seeing the Muggle-born."

Hermione frowned. After the disownment, Morta's family would shun her for the rest of their lives, as if she never existed. But perhaps, Hermione hoped, Morta had seen it as a worthy sacrifice. She lost her family, but she'd been given the freedom to love the man her heart had chosen.

"Morta was the real target," said Hermione. "The male victim, Shane, offered entertainment, but the killer had an emotional stake in Morta. Where did she work?" As a disowned child, Morta no longer had access to her family vaults. She would have been forced to find a job in order to survive, especially if her beau was as poor as Draco claimed.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies."

"We should go speak to her boss and co-workers. Our killer might have been a regular customer. He would want to be close to her. He might even have followed her, learned her habits and routines."

"I already spoke with them," said Draco. "And I have a list of their regular customers." A parchment dropped onto the table before her. "As well as a recent photograph of Morta." That followed the parchment.

Morta had been a beautiful young woman. With blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fresh innocence about her, she was like a virgin sacrificed at the altar of the killer's fantasies. He might not choose another blonde when he killed again, but the next victim would definitely have that innocence about her. What better way to taint her, then to have her die in the manner he'd devised? The deaths weren't violent, but there was a simmering rage behind them. Morta was the main focus of that rage; Shane was merely window dressing.

"Any background information on the regulars?" she asked. She didn't recognize any of the names on the list.

"Thomas is looking into it now," said Draco.

When Dean Thomas was nearly killed by a Dark wizard, his wife convinced him to switch to a safer position in the department. Which was why he now worked in Records instead of in the field.

"What else did you learn about Morta?"

"She was described as intelligent and vibrant. She was also responsible-according to her boss she never missed a day of work. She suddenly quit her job a week ago, and none of her co-workers had seen or spoken to her since."

Hermione frowned. "Does anyone know why she quit?"

"No. It confused them all because she seemed to enjoy her job." He picked up his espresso and sipped, his pinky finger jutting out as he did so.

"Quintus Finch suddenly quit his job a few days ago as well," she said. "He was a guard at Azkaban. He's also the one I suspect stole the potion recipe from your father's cell. I doubt this is a coincidence."

After her "friendly discussion" with Lucius, Hermione checked the special scrolls and learned that only two guards had entered Lucius's cell during the time of the theft—a day guard and a night guard. The night guard was Wendell Wormwood, a burly wizard with a crooked nose. When she questioned him, he swore he had not stolen the recipe, and Hermione's automatic quill had not alerted her to a lie.

The day guard, of course, was Quintus Finch, who she had yet to question.

"This next revelation will interest you," said Draco, leaning forward. "Morta was a member of the Order of Venus."

The Order of Venus were a group of witches who remained chaste before marriage. The initiates took a magical vow, and to break that vow caused painful consequences. Sex of any variety-even a touch or kiss-would have caused Morta extreme pain. It seemed Morta had not been deflowered by her Muggle-born beau, for only virgins were allowed in the order.

Morta would have felt tremendous pain while drugged with Compulsion. The last few days of her life had been torture, and yet she wasn't able to stop what caused that torture. This was precisely what the killer wanted-her suffering.

This was a defilement. A virgin, magically compelled to have sex, and all the while in excruciating pain. Was she aware of what was happening to her, or was she so mad from the potion she didn't know? Hermione hoped the pleasure had overwhelmed the pain. At least in death, her expression had not been one of suffering.

"We need a list of every member of the Order of Venus. He'll probably target another witch amongst them."

The order members were most likely young, innocent women-precisely the killer's type of victim. And Hermione was certain he would kill again.

"I concluded the same. Thomas is working on that as well." A pause. "The memory Father gave you. I want to view it with you." His voice was tight, like he expected her to disagree with him.

"He's your father, Draco. You have more rights to his memories than I do. Of course you can view it."

Draco stared at her then, in a way he sometimes did when he seemed to be trying to figure out something. She recalled what Lucius said, about how Draco was in love with her. Was that true? Never once had that thought ever crossed her mind. Draco's reputation was solid despite his family's entanglement with the Dark Lord, and he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the wizarding world. Certainly he couldn't harbor such strong feelings for her when he could have any woman he wanted.

And he usually did, the slut. She smiled at the thought, and he smiled back. That was the smile that made women want to drop their knickers for him, and yet she was immune to it's charms. Was that why he was interested, if Lucius was correct? She posed a challenge when other women did not?

Perhaps Lucius wanted her to begin mulling over this subject; he _had_ made a point of directing her attention to it. But what possible reason would he have?

"You believe Father's innocent, don't you?" asked Draco.

"I don't believe he gave the potion recipe to Quintus for nefarious purposes. I believe it was stolen from his cell as he claimed, and that Quintus passed the recipe to our killer. I'm certain we'll uncover evidence that will clear your father."

He let out a breath and nodded. "Good."

It was obvious from his reaction when he identified the potion that he was worried his father might have been involved in the murders. She considered offering more reassurance, but Draco avoided speaking of Lucius if he could help it.

With that in mind, Hermione turned her attention to a task she needed to attend to. She removed the potion carafe from her pocket and performed a spell to determine what ingredients the potion contained and the method in which it was brewed. As she and Lucius conjectured, the potion matched the recipe. Moreover, the potion was not particularly difficult to brew. Anyone with average potions skills could handle it. None of the ingredients were difficult to find, either. They were common and sold at every potions shop around.

"Morta's flat is nearby," said Draco. "Care for a look?"

xOxOxOx

"When was the last time you saw Morta?" Hermione asked the landlord.

The landlord was a lanky, Ichabod Crane look-alike. He had insisted on being present during their examination of Morta's flat.

He cocked his head to one side. "A week ago."

"Did Morta seem afraid or out of sorts?"

"She looked excited about something. She had an extra spring to her step, if you know what I mean." He unlocked the door and pushed. It soundlessly swung open on its hinges.

Hermione's wand was in her hand before she realized she'd grabbed it from its holster.

"Dear Merlin!" cried the landlord. He covered his mouth and dashed away-probably to be sick.

Hermione didn't blame him. The stench of death was almost overpowering. She quickly performed her nose numbing spell to avoid the stench and entered the flat, wand at the ready. A scan showed the flat was empty—save the body—and she relaxed her guard as she focused on the dead man.

"This doesn't seem like the work of our killer," she said. She Levitated near the victim so as not to disturb the gore splattered all over the carpet.

The victim was Quintus Finch. He had been sliced open from throat to groin.

"Why?" asked Draco.

"It's too messy. An act of extreme rage. Our killer wouldn't lose control like this."

"Maybe he has an accomplice. Or maybe he paid someone to kill Finch."

"I doubt it. The killer works alone."

"Why kill Finch here?" asked Draco. "He could have killed him anywhere and disposed of the body."

"He wanted us to find him, or he doesn't care if we find him," she said. "He knew we would search Morta's flat. Do you think Finch is the Muggle-born Morta fell in love with?"

"I don't know," he said, then smirked. "I'll go speak to the landlord. Now that he's no longer vomiting in the bushes."

"I remember a time when you would have been vomiting in the bushes."

Draco's smirk disappeared at that. She often teased him about his rookie days, when the blood and guts had a more pronounced effect on him.

She returned her attention to the scene, only vaguely hearing Draco's footsteps as he left to speak to the landlord.

Someone had struck Finch with a slicing spell and he fell where he stood. Then someone pulled out his innards and tossed them about like confetti. His wand was near his hand-he had either fired a spell or had attempted to before the attack. 

A _Prior Incantato _revealed the last spell performed with his wand was a basic cleansing spell, the kind one would use to freshen up when a bath wasn't necessary. Finch did not have the chance to defend himself. Either it happened suddenly or he trusted the person who eviscerated him.

If Finch was the one who stole the recipe from Lucius's cell three months ago-and she thought he was-then the killer believed Finch would not tell anyone about the theft. Perhaps Finch had been Obliviated. In which case, killing him would be unnecessary, since he wouldn't recall stealing the recipe to begin with.

So why did the killer commit an unnecessary murder in Morta's flat?

And why had no one reported Finch missing, even though he had been dead for several days?

Hermione moved deeper into the flat, pausing to examine Morta's bedroom. Everything had a place, and there was very little clutter.

On the walls were posters for the Holyhead Harpies. She worked at a broom shop, and she had these posters. Her broom was propped against one wall, and it was a decent model, but not the most expensive.

A search of Morta's room revealed no other clues. If she kept a diary it was not here.

"I found the connection between Morta and Finch," said Draco when he returned. "He was her boyfriend. I'm unsure if he's the one she was disowned over, though. The landlord didn't seem to know much about Morta's personal life."

"Finch was close to her," said Hermione. Something about that made an idea want to form, but it disappeared before she could determine what it was.

"The killer persuades Finch to steal the recipe," said Draco. "Then he uses the potion on Morta."

"He knew them," she said. "The killer knew Morta and Finch. Finch was probably the person who told the killer about the recipe in the first place. He saw it in Lucius's cell."

"If he wanted to be close to Morta, befriending her boyfriend would be a good first step. But why wait three months to kill Finch?"

"I don't know. It's no coincidence that Morta and Finch both quit their jobs around the same time. They had plans-maybe they intended to move away together. Or maybe they were frightened of something..." Only that didn't jibe with what the landlord said about the spring in Morta's step the last time he saw her. And if they planned to flee the country, Hermione doubted they would bother to formally quit their jobs—they simply would have left.

"There's something bothering me…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It will come to me."

Draco patted the top of her hand. Touching one another like this wasn't unusual, but with Lucius's words echoing in her mind she wanted to read more into it. Was this the gesture of a friend or of a man who loved her?

"You'll figure it out. You always do."

She avoided looking him in the eye, and he removed his hand.

xOxOxOx

Most of what they did after leaving Morta's flat was footwork. They spoke to the regular customers of Quality Quidditch Supplies, none of which raised any red flags. They also learned why Quintus Finch hadn't been reported missing. He lived alone and had no surviving relatives.

Had he shown up to visit Morta at her flat, only to catch the killer kidnapping her? Perhaps the killer would have snapped then-he would see Finch as an obstacle that needed to be removed and it might have triggered his rage. It made a sort of sense, but Hermione didn't think that was the case here. Every aspect of the murders were meticulously planned. It followed that Finch's murder was also planned.

Chances were, Finch was killed because he was Morta's boyfriend. The killer would not like the idea of his virgin sacrifice with another man. And yet, the way Finch was killed didn't match the killer's MO. This pointed to the fact that the killer might have an accomplice, but she was sure he worked alone.

Hermione had spoken to Mrs. Wintlow, the owner of the home where the bodies of Morta and Shane were found, and learned the witch's holiday plans were no secret. Anyone could have known she would be on holiday for an extended period.

Draco had owled the owner of the Lotus, who turned out to be Marcus Flint, and arranged for an interview the following evening.

All in all, the day had been busy, and yet they were no closer to finding the killer.

"Tomorrow the goddess of the Order of Venus has agreed to speak with us," said Draco.

Hermione was studying the crime scene photos spread out before her. "Goddess?" she asked.

"That's her formal title," said Draco, and rolled his eyes. "She founded the order."

"Do you have a problem with abstinence before marriage?" she asked.

"The so-called goddess draws in young, impressionable girls and persuades them to take a vow that will torture them if they so much as touch the opposite sex. So yes, I have a problem with it."

"What do we know about her?"

"She started the order about a year after the war, when she herself was unwed."

"But she's married now? Who's the husband?"

"Kent Blackburn."

Hermione's stomach fluttered when she recognized the name. Kent Blackburn was a member of the Wizengamot. Here was a possible suspect. He might have met Morta through his wife's ridiculous order. She opened her mouth, but Draco spoke first.

"I know that look-it means you've figured something out and you're about to run with it. But before you do I think we should view the memory my father gave you. Then we need to be at Grimmauld Place for dinner with Ginny and Harry."

Hermione was about to protest, but decided against it. Draco was right. Now was a good time to view the memory, and she didn't want to be late for dinner. Ginny would not be pleased.

Adjoining Hermione's library was her memory cache. It was a large room with several desks-she'd found through her research she needed several work surfaces-and in the center loomed a free standing shelf. Upon the shelf were vials upon vials of memories. These were the memories she had collected from killers over the years.

She Summoned her pensieve basin and set it on a nearby desk. The memory, once poured into the basin, swirled with an iridescence like the inside of a shell.

In unison, she and Draco dipped their faces into the pensieve.

They appeared in a sumptuously appointed receiving room. Judging by the blonde portraits on the walls, she guessed they were in Malfoy Manor. A man was seated in a wing backed chair, and the nearby fire cast patterns of shadows and light on his cheeks. He held a striking similarity to Lucius and Draco.

"That's my grandfather, Abraxas," whispered Draco.

A pair of French doors burst open, and in strode a young Lucius Malfoy. He exuded such arrogance that Hermione snorted. She guessed he might have been sixteen or seventeen years old.

"You're late, Lucius," said Abraxas.

Lucius shrugged and bit into a green apple.

"You should take this more seriously," Abraxas warned, and his eyes flashed with anger. "If our guest wasn't late himself, you would have shown a great disrespect."

"I don't have any respect for our _guest_," he said, and dropped onto the loveseat. "He's mental if he really believes he can kill every Muggle in the world."

Abraxas flicked his wand, and the apple flew out of Lucius's hand. It slammed into the wall, narrowly missing one of the portraits, who complained vociferously. "You are the fool. You do not cross the Dark Lord."

A chill crawled up Hermione's spine. Despite all the pensieve memories she had collected from ex-Death Eaters, Voldemort still provoked fear.

"I was eating that," said Lucius, and folded his arms over his chest. He was acting like every rebellious teenager Hermione had ever met. She glanced at Draco, whose eyes had widened. Perhaps he didn't know his father had once been so insolent. Lucius had probably told Draco a number of times what a dutiful heir he was when he was a kid. "Have you ever heard of the nuclear bomb, Father? The Muggles have hundreds if not thousands of them. Our magic can't protect us against that kind of Muggle technology. They could slaughter us all like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"And how do you know so much about Muggle technology?"

Lucius shrugged. "Know thy enemy…"

Before the conversation could progress, Lord Voldemort was announced by a terrified house elf. Voldemort was skeletally thin, his skin was too pale, and his eyes were red. Years of dabbling in the Dark Arts had destroyed his good looks.

"My Lord," said Abraxas, and bowed deeply. Lucius followed suit, but he didn't look happy about it.

"As I am late, I wish to speak to Lucius immediately. Alone," said Voldemort.

Lucius's face flickered with unease. Every shred of the insolent teenager had disappeared.

"Of course, my Lord." Abraxas gave his son a warning glance before making a hasty exit.

Voldemort moved to stand beside the fireplace, his hands folded behind his back. "Your father is loyal to me and my cause," he began. "He claims that you are as well, but I have my doubts. If you at all care about your family's well-being, it is in your best interest to assuage those doubts."

"How am I to prove my loyalty, my Lord?" asked Lucius. When he realized he was gripping the sofa arm so hard his knuckles had leached of color, he relaxed his grip.

"I am interested in Severus Snape. It is now your duty to convince him to join our cause. Bring him to me once he is receptive. The same holds true for the other Slytherins. I expect recruits by the end of the month."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Remember that I am watching you, Lucius."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Do not fail me," the Dark Lord cautioned, and strode out.

Lucius went lax with relief.

The scene changed…now Hermione and Draco had been transported to an unfamiliar bedroom. Through the window, Hermione saw a rocky cliff and a roiling ocean beyond.

"I know this place," said Draco. "It's the cottage by the sea. I've never been here, but Mother described it to me once."

Lucius was older, perhaps in his early twenties. He was bare-chested, his spine flush against a headboard, with silky, black sheets pooled over his lap. Cuddled against him was a woman with dark hair and a shapely body.

Hermione checked his left hand. He wore a wedding band, which meant he was already married to Narcissa. This dark-haired witch was a mistress.

The mistress slept soundly, her lips curled rather blissfully, but Lucius was tense. He seemed to be brooding over something that troubled him.

He plucked up a necklace slung over his neck. The chain was gold, almost delicate, and dangling from the bottom was a ring. Rather than a stone centerpiece, the ring bore an amber eye about the circumference of a galleon. The iris swirled to and fro like it was watching its surroundings.

Lucius extended his finger, as if about to slip the ring on, but scowled and dropped the ring instead. He sighed, disentangled from the woman's hold, and slipped out of bed. Hermione avoided looking upon his nude form, but she did see a flash of the Dark Mark on his arm.

The woman stirred. She stretched, then went still when she saw Lucius. "You're leaving already?"

"You know Narcissa is already suspicious, Claudia."

"So what?"

"You don't have to live with her. She's been in an atrocious mood lately."

"I wish _you_ didn't have to live with her," said Claudia. "You treat me like a slut."

His eyes went cold. Hermione recognized the expression from her visit with him-it was the one that incited those warm, little butterflies.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't act like a slut," he said.

"If I'm a slut then so are you. It takes two to shag. At least _I'm_ not married." Claudia threw her pillow at him, and it bashed into his bare chest, making the ring around his neck swing back and forth. The eye swiveled toward Claudia, and Hermione could have sworn it was _glaring_ at the witch. Claudia didn't seem to notice. She smiled mischievously, attempting to break Lucius out of his cold façade.

"We are not having this conversation again," he said.

She beckoned for him. "Don't leave. I miss you. We haven't spent any time together in ages."

Lucius paused before slipping into bed with her once more. He wrapped her in his arms and gradually relaxed, as if holding her had soothed him. "This is wrong on many levels."

"I think it's right. The rightest thing in my life."

"You haven't told anyone about us, have you? Not even your closest friends?"

"Of course not. I already told you I wouldn't. There's no need to warn me every time we see one another."

"Yes, there is. If anyone found out about us-it would be very, very bad." He stroked her hair, running his fingers through the dark strands. For an instant, fear molded his features, only to vanish as quickly as it had come. "I love you," he said, barely above a whisper. He said it with such ease it seemed he had said it a number of times, and with a tenderness Hermione thought was impossible for a man like Lucius.

_This isn't the Lucius you know, _she reminded herself_. This is a younger version. _

"I love you, too," said Claudia.

The memory faded. Hermione and Draco lifted their faces from the basin, their hair and cheeks dripping with liquid. Draco immediately whisked his wand to dry them.

"Do you know who Claudia is?" Hermione asked, her cheeks faintly tingling from Draco's drying spell.

"I have no idea, but it's clear Father wants you to find out."

Yes, it did seem as if Lucius wanted her to discover the identity of his mistress. But why? "What about the ring?"

Draco shrugged. "I've never seen it before. It definitely isn't Father's style-it's far too hideous."

A/N_—I researched Voldemort before writing this chapter, but I was unable to find precisely when he began to have serpent-like features._


	4. Revelation

Disclaimer—I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters.

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and put this story on alert!_

Chapter Four

Revelation

Hermione's thoughts circled around Lucius's memories. Why did he want her to see those memories in particular? The first one showed he wasn't always a loyal follower of the Dark Lord. In fact, it seemed as if he was drafted into the Death Eater ranks by his father, and the Dark Lord had threatened his family to keep him in line.

But the second memory…why would he want Hermione to know about his mistress, Claudia?

"You're quieter than usual," said Ginny. She swirled her wine and took another drink. Hermione _had_ been distracted, but she knew Ginny drank at least three goblets over dinner. The children were at Molly's overnight, so Ginny had drank more than she normally would have. "You're obsessing over work aren't you? You can't even relax enough to enjoy the little time you have to spend with us."

Draco shifted in his seat, as he realized what Ginny would say next. It wasn't uncommon for her to give Hermione long-winded speeches when she was plastered. They were always about how empty Hermione's life must be. How she needed to switch careers, marry, and push out a litter of offspring.

"Aren't you tired of all the violence and death? What about life? What about a husband and children?"

"Ginny," said Harry, his tone a bit sharper than usual. "You're pissed."

She glowered at her husband. "I'm afraid Hermione will wake up one day and see she's completely alone. What will she have if she stays on this path? Her career, and that's it!" She transferred her glower to Hermione. "Don't you want to fall in love? There's more to life than your job, Hermione. I know I once hated Draco-no offense Draco-but now I think he's the perfect man for you."

When Hermione and Draco became partners, Harry, Ginny, and Ron raised a number of concerns. There was a palpable tension between Draco and her best mates for a while, until Harry and Ginny grew to understand he was no longer the boy they'd known. Draco and Harry even managed to be polite to each other, though Hermione would never have called them friends. Ron, however, continued to loathe Draco, and the feeling was mutual.

"Okay, you've hit your limit," said Harry, and helped Ginny up. She allowed him to haul her to her feet, even as she protested his manhandling.

"Stop it, Harry. I want to say this," she slurred, and fell against his chest. "Look at what we have. I just want that for Hermione."

"I know," he said, and mouthed, _I'm sorry_, in Hermione's direction before guiding Ginny into the house.

Hermione watched them go with a shake of her head. Ginny's rant shouldn't have bothered her, especially since she'd heard it before. Yet, the words struck the lonely place inside her. Ginny had no idea how lucky she was. She had a good man who genuinely cherished her, and she mistakenly believed it was just as easy for every witch to find a man as devoted and wonderful as Harry.

Following the war, Hermione and Ron began dating, but she eventually reached the conclusion that they were incompatible. They had different goals in life. Ron wanted a family, and Hermione was too focused on her career to be the wife he desired. But most importantly, she wasn't ready for children. She still had things she would like to do before becoming a mother.

This became a bone of contention between them. Ron continued to press her to be more like Molly, and she became more and more bitter that he wanted to change her. Finally, their differences were irreconcilable.

After the break-up Ron refused to be in the same room with her, which had been painful, and Molly had given Hermione the cold shoulder. Both had expectations of her, and though she wanted to please them she couldn't remain in a relationship she was no longer invested in. Gradually she and Ron were able to be cordial to one another, and he married Lavender Brown. The two seemed happy together, which made Hermione feel proud for him, but a bit sad as well.

Her current love life was rather pathetic. She was a workaholic, and more often than not she used her career as a means to distract herself from the problems in her life. This was a coping mechanism she developed in order to deal with the emotional scars from the war. Since it was impossible for her to think of two subjects at once, she made sure that one subject was always something other than her bad memories.

"Just because you're a different kind of woman than Ginny doesn't mean there's anything wrong with your lifestyle," said Draco. He poured a shot of firewhisky and offered her one, which she declined.

As an Auror she was exposed to blood and guts day after day, and after a while it took a toll. Her research compounded that toll, as she was frequently immersed in violent memories. Before long she began drinking firewhisky on a regular basis, a practice that was not uncommon with Aurors. Having drinks after work, often as a group, was practically a custom.

Then one morning after a night of drinking, Hermione woke beside a wizard she didn't recognize. They had shagged, only she'd blacked out and couldn't remember; she didn't even know the wizard's name. Waking up beside a strange man, half pissed and panicked by the situation, made her see that alcohol was not an appropriate method of dealing with the stress. Since that time she rarely indulged, save on special occasions, and even then she wouldn't imbibe much.

"Not everyone wants a family," said Draco. "Look at me. I'm supposed to be married to a pure-blooded witch by now. Should already have a son, in fact. That speech Ginny gave you is nothing in comparison to the speeches Mother gives me."

She smiled as she imagined what Draco's son would look like. Just like him, she knew: blonde and gray-eyed and inhumanly beautiful. Malfoy men might have questionable morals at times, but no one in their right mind could claim they weren't gorgeous. Especially Lucius…she yanked her mind away from _that_, uncomfortable such a thought had even occurred to her in the first place.

"Why didn't you marry a nice pure-blooded witch?" she asked.

It was a question she'd never asked him before because it would inevitably bring up what his father expected of him, and she'd found it was wise not to bring up Lucius if she could help it. Still, she had often wondered why Draco hadn't married and produced an heir.

"After what happened with Father and the Dark Lord I decided I would never allow anyone else to make decisions for me. And I don't want to settle down."

"I suppose the incessant bed-hopping hasn't exhausted you yet," she said.

He puffed out his chest. "I do have incredible stamina."

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned, but sobered thereafter. "Ginny has a point, though. The only men I'm intimate with are killers. I see their memories, their darkest secrets…I don't know any normal, non-psychopathic men half as well."

That wasn't exactly what bothered her, though. What bothered her was that she was clearly okay with it. Otherwise she would have changed the situation long ago.

xOxOxOx 

The following morning, the Auror division bustled with activity. Hermione, however, was in her own quiet bubble, as she'd erected a ward around her cubicle that silenced outside noises. Her legs were propped up on her desk and there was a file opened across her lap. She had been staring at it for the last few moments, her mouth an O of shock.

Claudia Thornvine was a Muggle-born. Lucius Malfoy had an affair with a Muggle-born. He had been _in love _with a Muggle-born.

"What's wrong?" asked Draco as he entered the cubicle. "Your mouth is dangling open."

She shut it with an audible clanking of teeth and handed the file to Draco. His lips went tight as he read the dossier on Claudia. "This can't be right."

"It is; I double checked. She was a Ravenclaw. Was in the same year as your father."

"Claudia was murdered," said Draco, after studying the dossier a bit more. "Death Eaters killed her, her parents, and her younger sister."

Had Lucius been involved in their murders? How had he gone from cuddling in bed with Claudia to possibly killing her?

Draco snapped the file closed with more force than necessary.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"It's hard for me to believe. My whole life I thought he hated Muggle-borns, but he seemed to actually have feelings for Claudia in the memory. Could the memory have been tampered with?"

"My pensieve basin is bespelled. If a memory has been altered in some way it will alert me."

This had become a necessity because many of the killers she'd collected memories from found it amusing to give her false memories. Over the years she learned all their tricks and how to counter them.

"Is there any way Father could have tampered with the memory without it triggering the basin spell?"

"My pensieve always catches it." She hesitated before deciding to say more. "Maybe your father isn't as prejudiced as he acts. He was strangely nice to me yesterday. And he owns a copy of my book. I think he was reading it recently because it was on the top of the stack."

"That is exactly what he wants you to think. He's toying with you."

"I know he's toying with me," she said. "That doesn't mean he's as prejudice as he seems. Otherwise he never would have had an affair with a Muggle-born witch. He wouldn't have even touched her, but he was _holding_ her, Draco. I think he really did love her."

Draco's cheek muscle ticked. "I don't even think he's capable of love."

"He loves you. You didn't see him during the final battle when he was searching for you."

Draco's eyes met hers before darting away. "Now you of all people are taking up for my father. He's influencing you already."

"This has nothing to do with his influence. I'm telling you what I observed during the battle. He was frantic with worry."

Again his cheek ticked, as it tended to do when he was angry.

"You said you recognized where Lucius and Claudia were during the memory," she said. "Do you have access to the cottage by the sea?"

"You want to go there?"

"Why not?"

Ten minutes later, and they had materialized inside the cottage. Hermione chuckled.

Opposite the loveseat was an old-fashioned television, complete with antennae. Nearby was an equally outdated record player and several racks of albums.

"He has decent taste in music," she said, chuckling once more at the irony that Lucius Malfoy owned a Billie Holiday record.

Draco glanced around in astonishment. "Mother and I never came here. We have so many properties…we thought this one hadn't been occupied in many years."

"I wager he came here often," she said, and moved toward the bookshelf that had caught her attention. "This is where he hid his Muggle things."

Many of the books interested her. _The Catcher in the Rye. Crime and Punishment. The Complete Sherlock Holmes. Lord of the Flies. Arabian Nights._

On the bottom shelf was a photograph album. She Summoned it and opened to the first page. The picture was of Lucius and Claudia snogging the life out of one another. Every picture depicted a similar scene. Their clothing changed, and the settings changed, but they were always embracing or kissing. Oddly, she felt a stab of jealousy when she saw the _want_ in Lucius's eyes as he looked at Claudia.

Draco joined her by the bookshelf, and she handed the album to him. "Tell me they weren't in love," she said, watching him flip through the pictures as she had.

His face flickered with too many emotions to catch them all. Then he threw the album across the room, Disapparating with a strident _crack_ before the album even slammed into the wall.

She sighed and retrieved the photograph album. Maybe she shouldn't have opened her big mouth. Draco was overly sensitive where Lucius was concerned, and he had just been dealt a serious shock. Hermione was shocked as well, and Lucius wasn't even her father.

xOxOxOx 

Hermione arrived at Azkaban at nine o'clock. Like the morning prior, Pearl escorted Hermione to Lucius's cell. This time, neither witch spoke, though Pearl hummed a rather jaunty tune.

Lucius was in the exact position as the last time she saw him-ramrod straight on his bed with the violet cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His black robe had a high collar, hiding the scar on his neck.

Draco had more delicate features than his father-he was almost pretty. (This was something she would never tell Draco, of course.) Lucius, on the other hand, had a more manly appearance, with his square jaw and bulky physique. Though she couldn't see his musculature under his robe, she sensed he had a very fit body beneath. Again those warm, little butterflies bounced in her chest, and again she was disgusted, and a bit frightened, by them.

Hermione knew what sort of man Lucius was. Her attraction to him was wrong, and horrible, and beyond inappropriate. He was a _mass murderer_. At one time she had loathed him and Draco...and now she was Draco's best mate, and she had those unsettling butterflies every time she was in Lucius's presence. She had certainly changed in the last decade, and her warped attraction for Lucius caused her to question what sort of woman she had become.

She Transfigured a chair and settled in, reordering the position of her trench coat until she was comfortable. "Do you care to explain why you gave me those memories and requested I return today?"

"You visited the cottage by the sea, didn't you?"

"Will you answer my question?"

Lucius stared at a place over her shoulder. "Did Draco view the memories?"

"Is that why you gave them to me? So he would view them and understand you better? Did you count on the fact that he would insist on viewing the memories with me?" Maybe he believed if Draco saw the memories, he would consider a reconciliation. This could be his motive for giving them to her.

"I wished to kill two birds with one stone."

Frustration welled in her. Could he not answer a simple question? He either sidestepped her queries or answered in such an enigmatic fashion she learned nothing from his response. She was half tempted to perform a _Legilemens_, but knew better than to do so. Not only was it an invasion of his privacy, but he would sense her invasion.

Hermione had meant to take control of the conversation, to steer it in the direction she wished, but that would be next to impossible. He was too much of an alpha male to allow that to happen.

"How goes the murder case?" he asked, after a silence had lengthened between them.

"You know I can't divulge any information about the case to you."

He gestured to the copy of the _Daily Prophet _resting on his desk. The deaths of Morta, Shane, and Finch were front page news. The majority of the details were absent from the article, as those would be suppressed from the media for as long as possible. "Finch was the guard who stole my recipe, I presume."

Hermione said nothing, and Lucius's lips quirked. "You're a stubborn woman, Miss Granger."

"You're just as stubborn, Mr. Malfoy."

"This hour will be a quiet one if we refuse to answer one another's questions."

She shrugged with a single shoulder, realizing it was precisely the way in which Draco shrugged. How many mannerisms had she learned from him over the years? "I enjoy the quiet."

"I've had ten years of quiet."

His tone, so filled with unexpected emotion, made her look at him more closely. She wanted to ask him if he really had loved Claudia and how he ended up loving a Muggle-born. Instead she asked another question, one that was in safer territory.

"What do you plan to do when you're released?"

"Travel."

"Where will you go? Will you return to the cottage by the sea?"

"I have no reason to hide any longer. The Dark Lord is dead." He seemed neither upset or pleased by Voldemort's demise.

"The cottage was where you went to hide," she said, nodding as her suspicion was confirmed. "Why did you collect those things?"

"Because they gave me pleasure."

"Even though they were created by Muggles?" she asked.

"Even though."

Hermione recalled what a cocky, rebellious teenager he was. Perhaps his collection of Muggle things was an offshoot of that. Maybe it was a way of giving his father a two finger salute.

"What happened to Claudia? Were you there the night she and her family were killed?"

"If you want the answer you'll have to view more of my memories."

"Upon which point I will return and ask you more questions about what I viewed. Why do you want me to continue to return here?"

"I'm not ready to tell you yet. When I am ready, you will know."

Vexation and curiosity continued to burn inside her."You are a pain in the arse," she blurted. It was precisely the way she spoke to Draco when he was being difficult.

Lucius laughed, and she couldn't stop her astonishment from showing. She had heard Lucius laugh before, and it always had a fake, haughty quality, or a low villainous timbre. But this laugh was one of genuine amusement and it was nearly contagious. Hermione might have laughed as well under different circumstances.

"What?" he asked. "You look as if you're staring at an alien life form."

"Maybe I am. Then again you are an incredible actor, aren't you? Who's to know which mask is the real one."

"I can't fake my memories. Your pensieve would have told you."

This was yet another thing he'd learned from reading her book. Speaking of…"Why do you have a copy of my book?"

"There's not much to do here but read."

"If I asked about the odd ring in the memory would you be just as enigmatic?"

The ring had stuck in her mind. He could have offered Hermione any number of memories starring Claudia, but he had chosen one where the ring was featured. It was hideous, as Draco said, and was not the sort of jewelry Lucius would typically wear. Logically that meant it had a purpose, but what? And why had he seemed reluctant to slip it on his finger?

"Tell me more of your theories about the killer," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "Surely the Ministry would have no problem with you sharing a theory with me. Or am I still a suspect?"

"Officially you are."

"But you don't think I'm involved. I know many powerful men-men like your killer. I might recognize him through a personality description. A profile, as you call it."

Hermione considered. He might be able to offer a viable list of suspects. On the other hand, if Harry discovered she was sharing information with Lucius Malfoy he would not be pleased. And though she was sure Lucius wasn't responsible for the murders, there was a nugget of doubt warning her she might be wrong. He _had_ invented Compulsion.

Even so, Lucius made a good point. She would merely be sharing a theory on the kind of man she expected the killer to be. She would reveal no details about the case. After vacillating, she made her decision.

"As I said before, he's in a position of power," she said. "This would be a very controlling man. He would be ruthless once he had an objective in mind. He's extremely fastidious, perhaps to the point of compulsiveness. Therefore he would be well groomed, his clothing well tailored, his hair just so.

"He's most likely married. His wife could possibly be a blonde. There's a high probability she's younger than him, perhaps by a substantial margin. He would not marry a woman he considered an equal. He would be the dominant force in the relationship and would be verbally if not physically abusive. His wife is probably meek and subservient, but would be as well groomed and put together as he is. He would not have a sloppy wife, nor would he have an unattractive wife. But you would not call her beautiful if you saw her. Maybe cute or pretty, but not beautiful.

"He's a voyeur and was probably caught peeping at one time or another, most likely when he was in his early to late teens. There might be old rumors about him exhibiting these sorts of behaviors. Probably girls who lived in his neighborhood or who attended school with him.

"The killer isn't from a wealthy family. And I doubt he's attractive, unless he became so once he became a man. As a young man, he was average to ugly. But he always pined for the beautiful girls, knowing he could never have them…yearning for their touch but also despising them…"

She blinked and swam back to the real world. "Does that sound like anyone you know?"

"It does, actually, save the rumors of voyeurism. Kent Blackburn."

Hermione blinked again. Kent Blackburn had already become a person of interest, as his wife had founded the Order of Venus, of which Morta was a member.

"So he's a suspect," Lucius said, after having read her much too easily. "Have you met him?"

"No." Hermione had heard of him but had never met him in person. She had seen his picture in the Daily Prophet a few times, particularly when he acquired his Wizengamot seat.

"He contracted dragon pox when he was a child. He was left with pock scars all over his face, arms, and chest. The scars are profuse and quite unsightly. Not many know this because he hides the scars with glamours."

Profuse pock scars would definitely cause the beautiful girls to ignore Blackburn or perhaps even cringe with revulsion, depending on how unsightly the scars were and how cruel the girls were. Hermione knew from experience that teenage girls could be _very_ cruel. It was one reason she had so few female friends when she attended Hogwarts.

Blackburn wouldn't have been able to glamour the scars when younger. Maintaining a glamour sapped a wizard's magic, and the spell required a high level of skill. As a man, fully in control of his magic, he would have been able to conceal them, but not as a boy.

"What else do you know about him?"

Lucius explained that Blackburn was one of the youngest wizards ever to become a member of the Wizengamot. He was known for being stern, ambitious, and shrewd. His wife was in fact twelve years his junior. Narcissa, Lucius said, never liked her because she was too subservient to Blackburn.

"He treats her like a child. Often carping at her for her posture or dress or choice of vocabulary," said Lucius. "I never understood it. Personally I prefer strong, independent women."

"Was Claudia strong and independent?"

"She was strong in her own way, but not so independent. She could be clingy."

Now Hermione asked the question she had wanted to ask since entering the cell. "Did you really love her?"

"At first I began a relationship with her as a way of rebelling against my father, even though I made certain he would never find out. I didn't plan on falling in love with her."

That wasn't exactly a yes or no, but she suspected it was a yes.

"You were together for many years," she said.

"Since we were sixteen, until the day she died." He averted his gaze as if to hide the emotions her death roused in him. Lucius was either an amazing actor, or Claudia's death still caused him grief.

Hermione waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. Knowing he had no intention of mentioning Claudia any further, she cast a _Tempus _and rose. "The hour's up, Mr. Malfoy."

"You should collect more memories before you leave. You do want to know how the story unfolds, don't you?"

She recalled how Claudia and her family were killed by Death Eaters. "I already know how it ends."

"But you don't know the details." Once more he was using her curiosity to his advantage. She _did_ want to know the details.

"Depending on how Draco is when I see him, I might not tell him I collected more of your memories."

"That's up to your discretion."

She sighed. "Why are you toying with me, Mr. Malfoy? What do you have to gain?"

"That will be revealed in time."

Even more frustrated then before, she pressed the wand to his temple and gathered the memories, trying not to notice how close they were. Since she learned of Claudia and the cottage by the sea, Hermione had become even more sexually aware of Lucius, and it made her uncomfortable.

_Maybe that's his objective_, she thought. Then she shook her head. Lucius Malfoy would never be interested in Hermione Granger. It was too preposterous to even consider.


	5. Two Gravestones

Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters.

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and put this story on alert!_

Chapter Five

Two Gravestones

"I'm beginning to think my father intends to seduce you," said Draco.

His words made Hermione literally halt in her tracks. "What?"

They were approaching Blackburn Manor to speak to Kent Blackburn's wife, Fawn, the so-called goddess of the Order of Venus. Draco was in a better mood after she'd returned from her visit with Lucius, so she'd described her encounter with him and mentioned the new batch of memories.

"When it comes to the opposite sex, you can be rather obtuse sometimes."

She bristled at the word _obtuse_ and was about to object. He continued before she could, counting off his points with his fingers. "He has your book. He had no idea you would be visiting him until the last moment, so it couldn't have been a prop. He's using his memories to entice you to visit him. And the content of the memories…he has shown you that your blood status is not an issue."

"You're mental if you think your father would be interested in me."

Draco's eyes became slits of gray. "You don't seem disgusted by the thought of my father fancying you. In fact, you don't seem upset by the idea at all." His gaze was so intense it was almost intrusive.

In reality, Hermione was more distressed by how drawn she was to Lucius. The notion that he might reciprocate was laughable. Granted, he was using his memories to lure her to his cell, but his master plan had nothing to do with seducing her. What that master plan was, though...she still had no clue.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. But she understood what Draco was inferring, of course. Damn it, why were the Malfoys so perceptive?

"Do you fancy my father?"

A house elf appeared, saving Hermione from having to answer. Relief flowed through her at the sight of the floppy-eared creature. He was the most well spoken house elf she'd ever met. "Mrs. Blackburn will see you in the parlor. Follow me, please."

This was no Malfoy Manor, but it was clear the Blackburns had more than a few galleons to their name. Hermione and Draco tailed the house elf down a wide corridor and to the aforementioned parlor.

Fawn Blackburn was indeed a cute blonde. The way she carried herself, and her choice of wardrobe, made her seem younger than she actually was. Perched on her shoulder was a colorful budgie, or parakeet, who had been eying Draco with a strange intensity since their arrival. The bird had a yellow face, yellow and black feathers, and a green chest. The tail feathers were a dark, cobalt blue.

Every now and then Fawn stroked the bird as she talked, and she became quite impassioned when discussing her brainchild, the Order of Venus.

"I'm a Muggle-born," she said. "One of the things that always impressed me about pure-bloods was their chasteness prior to marriage."

Hermione expected Draco to make a noise of derision, but he did not. He knew very well that apparent chasteness was an act. Supposedly pure-bloods were to be virgins before they wed, as per the wedding contracts their parents committed them to, but it was an open secret that this almost never happened.

"I believe sex is sacred and beautiful and should only be shared between a man and woman who are married and in love with one another," Mrs. Blackburn said. "One day I was painting and it suddenly occurred to me out of the blue. I could found an order of young women who agreed with my point of view. They could take vows of chastity and maintain their purity."

The budgie left its perch on Fawn's shoulder, rising higher and higher into the air with a flapping of wings. Draco glanced at it warily, as if afraid the bird would release its bowels atop his head. "Why design the vow to be painful if broken?" he asked.

"Because we are all human, and all humans are flawed. Temptation can be difficult to ignore."

"Has it ever occurred to you that one of those women could be raped?" asked Hermione. She had no problem with abstinence before marriage, but she did have a problem with the manner in which the vow was designed. "Though they hadn't intentionally broken the vow, every touch would torture them."

Fawn blanched. "Was that what happened to Morta?" She went even paler as the ramifications sank in. Fawn's reaction caused doubt to build in Hermione. Shouldn't the ramifications of the vow already have occurred to her?

Draco scowled up at the circling bird before returning his attention to Fawn. "Were you and Morta friends, or was she merely a member of the order?"

"I would like to think we were friends."

"Did she or Quintus Finch ever visit you here?" asked Hermione.

This could have been how Blackburn, if he was the killer, initially met Finch.

"Morta and Quintus occasionally dined here. They were a sweet couple, and my husband and I were fond of them."

So Kent Blackburn personally knew two of the victims. Hermione and Draco exchanged a discreet look.

"Did Morta ever mention Shane Worth?"

Fawn shook her head. "If she knew him, she never mentioned it."

"Who was her closest friend in the order?"

"Ingrid Genue."

Hermione's automatic quill scribbled down the name. Surely, if anyone was aware of what was happening to Morta in the few days before she was killed, her best mate would.

"How much did you know about Morta's past?" asked Draco.

"Quite a bit, I think. I know she was disowned over Quintus."

According to Draco's contacts, Quintus Finch was the Muggle-born responsible for Morta's disownment. Mrs. Blackburn's statement merely confirmed information they had already received.

"Do you have any idea why Morta and Finch would have suddenly quit their jobs?" asked Hermione.

"I have no idea, but Morta wouldn't have done so unless she had another reliable source of income first."

The budgie soared directly toward Draco like it meant to land on his head. He waved an arm and the bird soared upward again. "Did she ever tell you she was worried someone might be watching her or following her?" he asked.

"No, but I didn't see her for a few days before she was-before what happened to her. She began avoiding me after she and Quintus were engaged."

Hermione stiffened. _Engaged? _Morta had not been wearing an engagement ring when her body was found, nor was a ring found at the crime scene or in her flat. Neither had applied for a marriage license either, unless a copy of the license had not been included in their files.

Had the killer taken the ring as a trophy? Or had he destroyed it?

An engagement would have provoked the killer. Morta was the focus of his obsession, the star of his sick fantasies. He would have been furious at the idea of Morta marrying another man. This might have been the reason he decided to murder her; _something_ had galvanized him to make his fantasies a reality. That trigger might have been her upcoming nuptials.

"She was no longer a member of the order, then?" asked Draco. Again the bird had dived toward him, and again he waved his arm and the budgie flew out of reach. It seemed to be teasing him.

"Morta stopped attending the meetings. My owls were ignored, and she wouldn't accept my firecalls. I assumed she was simply busy planning her wedding."

Hermione didn't think Morta withdrew from Mrs. Blackburn because of wedding plans. It was more likely that something had spooked her. Had Mr. Blackburn frightened her somehow? Did she catch him stalking her, or did he say something that made her nervous?

"Can we see your studio? You said you paint?" asked Hermione. She wasn't sure why she had asked to see it, only that a gut instinct had advised her to. Her gut instincts didn't always pan out, but she followed them nonetheless.

Mrs. Blackburn smiled. "It's only a hobby. Kent says I'm terrible, but if you're interested…"

As they shadowed Fawn through the manor, Hermione mulled over Kent Blackburn. If he had somehow frightened Morta she might not have told anyone because he was a powerful and influential man. He might have threatened her. And yet, when the landlord spotted her just before she died, he said she had an extra spring in her step. What had made her so happy?

The paintings were truly atrocious; they were the sort of abstracts a child could do. Hermione quickly lost interest and went to a nearby window when she saw a flash of white through the glass. Looming in the gardens were two, small headstones. The one on the left was engraved with the name _Titan_. The other was engraved with the name _Tristiana_.

"They were Kneazles, a mated pair," said Fawn. "They died a couple of months ago."

"What happened to them?" asked Draco, who had moved to stand beside Hermione to see the gravestones for himself.

"I don't know. They disappeared for a few days and then I found their bodies in the gardens. They were very skinny, like they hadn't eaten in weeks."

The Kneazles could have been Blackburn's test subjects. He could have used the potion on the Kneazles prior to using it on the murder victims.

After polite good-byes, she and Draco took their leave. Draco insisted they have lunch before doing anything further. They Apparated to their café for espresso, a meal, and further discussion.

"He might have used the Kneazles to test the potion," said Draco, echoing her earlier theory. "And like with all his victims, he left the corpses for someone to find. He could have buried the animals. Instead he left them in plain sight in the gardens."

Which, if the theory was correct, was fairly disturbing. Fawn had loved the Kneazles. She had special gravestones made for them and buried them in a spot where she could see their resting place from her studio, a room where she spent a great deal of time. Discovering them dead must have been a shock for her, to say the least.

"The Kneazles could have traces of Compulsion in their systems," said Hermione.

This would provide a link between Blackburn and the killings, but they would need a warrant to dig around in his garden. And they didn't have sufficient evidence for a warrant.

Draco chuckled. "You want to exhume a pair of dead Kneazles?"

"I need to see Blackburn in person, get a feel for him. But unless we have tangible evidence I don't want to arouse his suspicions."

"There's a fundraiser next week. Blackburn will be there. We could attend."

"Yuck. Ballroom dancing," joked Hermione.

He leaned forward and wiggled his brows. "You seem to have forgotten what an amazing dancer I am."

Hermione cleared her throat, wondering what was wrong with her. A handsome man she cared about was flirting with her, and she felt nothing. But when she was around Lucius…

Lucius might have loved a Muggle-born, but he was still a torturer and a murderer. Even as she sternly reminded herself of these things, she caught her fingers touching the vial of memories in her coat pocket. She wrenched her fingers away.

Perhaps Draco was right; perhaps Lucius _was_ influencing her. And seeing as how he couldn't be trusted and she had no idea what his motives were, she needed to be extra careful indeed.

Draco grew serious, and a fist of anxiety clenched in her chest. She feared he would demand to know if she fancied Lucius.

"When do you plan on viewing the memories?" he asked.

The fist relaxed, only to tighten all the more when it occurred to her he would eventually broach the topic again. Draco was tenacious, which was one reason he was a good investigator.

"I don't know. Probably later this evening."

"I would like to view them with you."

xOxOxOx 

"Morta seemed outgoing, but she had secrets, things she never told anyone," said Ingrid Genue.

Ingrid was a member of the Order of Venus, and according to Fawn Blackburn was Morta's best mate. She was petite, with blonde hair and dark eyes. She was also strikingly similar to Morta, so striking that Hermione's breath had caught when the witch entered.

For the last several hours Hermione had been questioning the order members. Each had agreed to meet the Aurors at division headquarters when requested, and not one had rescheduled. Due to the large number of interviewees, she and Draco had split up to question the women separately. Thus far Hermione had failed to discover anything of value. Morta, it seemed, had shared little of her personal life with the majority of the order.

Hermione's mind felt fuzzy and tired from asking the same questions over and over, but it had promptly sharpened upon Ingrid's arrival. She hoped Ingrid would know information the others did not.

"What secrets?" asked Hermione.

Ingrid shrugged. "If I knew they wouldn't be secrets." A pause. "I think she meant to tryout for the Holyhead Harpies. It was her dream to play on the team. For the last several months she practiced more than usual, and not merely for her own amusement. She was determined, almost grim."

"Do you think she might have made the team?"

"I would like to think so. She was a brilliant chaser."

Could this be why she and Finch quit their jobs? Had Morta earned a spot on the Holyhead Harpies? Did he mean to accompany her when she went on tour with the team? If so, why hadn't Morta told everyone who would listen about her triumph?

"If she made the team why would she keep it secret?" asked Hermione.

"You aren't a Quidditch fan, are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione responded in the negative. She had never been interested in the game, unless one of her friends was playing, and even then she tended to be easily distracted by her own thoughts.

"If Morta made the team she wouldn't have told much of anyone until her contract was signed." When Hermione looked puzzled, Ingrid elucidated. "It's a superstition. It would bring bad luck if she announced her inclusion beforehand. She would have told Quintus-she told him everything-but she would not have told anyone else."

This could explain why Morta was so happy when the landlord spotted her. It also explained why she and Finch quit their jobs and told no one why.

The remainder of the conversation wasn't nearly as enlightening, though Hermione did learn more about Ingrid. She lived alone with her ailing father, who had been struck with dementia a year earlier. It seemed her life revolved around him, as he required twenty-four hour care.

Worry burgeoned in Hermione as she and Ingrid exchanged farewells. She was absolutely certain she had just met the killer's next victim. 

xOxOxOx 

The Lotus had a line winding out the front entrance and around the side of the building. Since Hermione and Draco had an appointment to speak to the owner of the establishment, they headed toward the front of the line. A number of witches nearly gave themselves whiplash to watch Draco walk by, a fact which he seemed to ignore.

"You're early," said the doorman, who not only had recognized them on sight but was aware of their appointment. "You'll be taken to Mr. Flint when he's ready to see you." He stepped aside so they could enter.

Music pounded, and loudly enough Hermione could barely hear herself think. The dance floor was so crowded the witches and wizards were having difficulty moving around without accidentally colliding into one another.

Earlier she asked Harry to discreetly post an Auror at Ingrid Genue's home. After hearing her explanation he agreed to offer Ingrid protection for a brief period. He usually trusted Hermione's profiling abilities, but Shacklebolt was another matter. The minister preferred to act based on evidence—not Hermione's behavioral analysis of a suspect.

It was doubtful the killer would strike again so soon, but if he did, Hermione would be alerted.

She used a spell to lower the volume of the music in order to hear the conversations swirling around. Arriving early for the appointment was a strategic move. If the killer had encountered Shane Worth here, he might have visited the club on a number of occasions. It might even have served as a hunting ground for him, since he would want to find the perfect match for Morta-he wouldn't have picked the first attractive wizard he saw. Consequently, the regular clientele might have been in contact with the killer.

There was a booth available in a dim corner adjacent to the dance floor. She slid in but avoided resting her hands on the table due to the sticky alcohol all over it.

"I'll ask around about Shane," Draco said into her ear. She shivered a little as his breath caressed the side of her neck. Having noticed her reaction, he smirked before disappearing into the shifting crowd.

_That wasn't Draco hitting on me_, she insisted.

She hated the fact that she now analyzed every move he made toward her. He was her partner and friend. He was not in love with her, no matter what his irksome father claimed. Draco was well-known for being a ladies man, and he knew how to approach a woman when he was interested. He had never once approached her in that fashion; their relationship had always been professional.

The last thing she needed was for there to be tension between her and Draco. Especially since she was growing more and more attracted to his father, despite the fact that he was a Death Eater.

And what did that say about her? It was a question she'd been doing her best to ignore. It was also the reason she avoided viewing the latest memories when Draco suggested it a few hours prior. She sensed that the more she saw of Lucius's memories, the more attracted to him she might become.

Hermione sat back and listened to the conversations ricocheting around her. Most of them were inane. Didn't anyone know how to have a mentally stimulating conversation? Then again, these sorts of places weren't made for mentally stimulating interactions. They were specially crafted to find someone to shag.

"…can't believe Shane is dead…I saw him not even a week ago..."

This captured Hermione's attention. It was difficult to see the speaker in the darkness, but she was at the booth closest to the bar. She was with another witch, but Hermione could only see the back of the other witch's head.

The woman rose suddenly and hurried away from the booth, covering her mouth with her hands.

Hermione followed, rounding a corner as her quarry vanished into the loo. Once inside, she found the woman at the sink, rubbing her eyes with a tissue. She glared at Hermione, and Hermione took the opportunity to capture her gaze. "_Legilimens_."

Memories of Shane were at the forefront of the witch's mind. The witch, who was called Susan, harbored anger and bitterness toward him, and yet she still wanted him desperately. Hermione didn't understand why-in every memory she viewed, he treated the witch terribly. He was an arrogant bastard.

_You mean like Lucius?_, an inner voice asked. She promptly ignored that voice.

She fast forwarded through the memories to the last time Susan saw Shane. He was in the very booth Hermione had been in earlier, and he wasn't alone. Another man sat across from him, but Hermione couldn't make out the other man's face. She saw a flash of skin and the hint of shoulders, but otherwise he was hidden in shadow.

She wished Legilimens memories were like pensieve memories. In pensieve memories one could move around and view the scene from different angles, as it was a three dimensional environment. Legilimens memories, however, were as two dimensional as a photograph.

Could the man be Blackburn? It was impossible to tell.

Delving a little deeper, she specifically searched for memories involving the mystery man and stumbled upon a black space that was a little psychic hole in Susan's mind. Someone had Obliviated her.

Disappointed, she gently pulled out of Susan's mind. Susan blinked rapidly before adopting her former glare. It was clear Susan was back to normal and hadn't detected what Hermione had done.

On her way back to the booth, a wizard bumped into her. "Pardon me," he said.

Hermione didn't recognize him, and as she nodded in acceptance of the apology, an odd prickling rushed across her scalp. Had she been struck by a spell?

The wizard moved round her and cut into the crowd before she could react. Something to his gait was familiar. Upon further inspection, she began to think something to his voice was familiar as well. She performed a few quick diagnostics to determine if she was afflicted with an unknown spell, but the tests were negative. She must have imagined the odd prickling.

Finally she returned to the booth, half expecting it to be occupied by a group of drunken revelers, but Draco was there. "Almost thought I had something," she said, and went on to explain Susan's memories of the mystery man.

That was when Draco stiffened, his wand at the ready. Hermione was confused, but she soon noticed what had put him on guard. A massive wizard approached. He was steamrolling through the crowd as if he intended to mow down anyone foolish enough to remain in his path. Needless to say, people scrambled out of his way.

"Mr. Flint would like to see you now," he said. This did not sound like a request.

He escorted them to the rear of the club and up a flight of stairs. A narrow corridor ended at a closed door, which the man opened. He did not enter, however. He merely gestured for Hermione and Draco to do so with an air of impatience.

The office was spacious and modern. Behind a glass desk loomed Marcus Flint. He was as massive as the guard and lined with muscle. After graduating from Hogwarts, Flint fled the country. Now he had moved back home and opened The Lotus, apparently. He was not officially connected to the Dark Lord despite his family's affiliation, and as such had escaped prosecution.

"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger," he said, and popped a fat cigar into his mouth. He chewed on the end, and Hermione was reminded of the way a horse will eat a carrot. "I would like to know why a _Legilimens_ was performed on one of my patrons."

How did he know? Hermione didn't sense any wards that would have alerted him.

"It's a Ministry matter, Flint," said Draco. "If anyone has a right to ask questions, it's us."

Marcus lit the cigar with the tip of his wand and exhaled coiling plumes of smoke. "This is about Shane Worth?"

"It is," said Hermione, and disregarded the look Draco gave her. "There's a wizard preying on your clientele. That can't be good for your reputation. If any more disappear, people will be too afraid to return here. And I assure you, the killer won't stop until he's in Azkaban. He could snatch a few more of your customers. This is comfortable hunting ground for him. So it's in your best interest to cooperate unless you want to start losing galleons."

Appealing to a Slytherin's greed was always a good manipulative ploy.

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Shane was a bartender. He was a pompous git, but he attracted the birds. He could always convince them to keep buying drinks."

"Has a suspicious wizard been here in the last three months? Anyone who seemed particularly interested in Shane?"

Marcus's face screwed up as if he was trying to solve a complicated Arithmancy problem. At first Hermione thought it was comical, until the cigar plopped from his mouth and the tip landed on his left hand. He didn't even flinch as his skin was burned.

"Flint?" Draco asked.

There was a flash of light, and Draco was struck. The force of the blow made his chair tumble backward, and he rolled onto the floor. Blood soaked through his robe, suctioning the fabric to his chest.

"Draco!" Hermione cried, but had to dive as a similar flash of light shot in her direction. It narrowly missed her ear and slammed into the wall behind her, cracking the plaster.

Marcus moved clumsily, like he was being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer. Too late, she understood why he had attacked. Someone had twisted his mind.

She rolled toward a nearby furniture grouping and cast a _Stupefy_ as she did so. He stepped aside at the perfect moment, and the spell missed him. Cursing, she shielded and ducked behind an arm chair.

Another flash of light sliced through the back of the chair and bashed into her shield. It ricocheted off and barreled into the ceiling, making the light fixtures bounce. Her shield wavered but held.

Hermione rose high enough to see her target and fired another _Stupefy_. It hit Flint's chest and he collapsed, his wand clenched in stiff fingers. His head smashed the corner of his desk hard enough to shatter the glass. Shards flew in all directions.

Carefully she neared him, strengthening her shields as he went. He was unconscious and breathing regularly. Luckily for her, the compulsion he was under had hindered his dueling abilities. Otherwise incapacitating him would have been much harder.

Vaguely, she wondered why none of Flint's lackeys had rushed into the room. Perhaps the wards barred any inside noise from traveling out.

When she was satisfied Marcus wouldn't be moving any time soon, she charged over to Draco. His lids fluttered when she touched his arm. "Bloody hell," he said.

She went limp with relief. If he had this attitude, he would be okay. Or so she hoped. "I'm taking you to St. Mungo's. Hold on." She peeled back his robe and undershirt, exposing the wound. It was a long, vertical slit extending from his pectorals to his navel. Much deeper and he would have been gutted like Quintus Finch.

_Sectumsempra_. Damn Professor Snape and his wicked spell-crafting ability.

Hermione was able to temporarily stop the bleeding with a spell, but he needed to see a healer as soon as possible. She returned her attention to Marcus. She needed to bring him to hospital as well, considering his nasty fall against the corner of the desk and his questionable mental state.

"Hermione?" said Draco.

"Yes?" she asked, as she Levitated Marcus closer to Draco. She would have to touch both of them at once for a Side-Along to St. Mungo's.

"You want to shag my father, don't you?"

It was shocking that he was aware enough to ask such a question, not to mention the content of the question.

"Hush, Draco. You're hurt."

"I'm hurt-not daft," he said, and promptly passed out. 


	6. The Dream

Chapter Six

The Dream

Around dawn Healer Shortbird glided into Draco's hospital room. "You should go home," said the healer, in a no-nonsense voice. She whisked her wand over Draco with practiced ease. "Mr. Malfoy will sleep for hours thanks to the potions we've administered. You need your rest."

"I'm not leaving," said Hermione. She glanced at Draco, and his face was drawn and fatigued even while he was sleeping.

No, she would not abandon him, whether he was unconscious for hours or not. He was her partner; that was what partners did. Healer Shortbird must have understood this about Aurors—certainly she'd witnessed how they treated their wounded partners.

"But you haven't slept-"

"Stay away from this room unless Draco needs medical attention!" Hermione snapped.

Shortbird nodded and glided out. Her graciousness caused a hearty dose of guilt to flood Hermione. She collapsed into the chair next to Draco's bed, emotionally, mentally, and physically spent.

Now that the danger had passed she had given herself permission to fall apart. Learning how to remain calm during a crisis required training and experience, but the aftermath...Sometimes it involved crying, and sometimes it involved yelling at well intentioned healers. Hermione was doing a bit of both.

_I should have realized Flint's mind had been tampered with before he sliced up Draco, _she thought_. When the cigar burned his hand and he didn't flinch, I should have done something then. _

Her memories continued to loop, incessantly replaying the incident. The way Draco rolled to the floor, all dead weight and seeping blood, had terrified her. If the _Sectumsempra_ was a fraction deeper Draco would not be alive.

She was supposedly the cleverest witch of her age. That meant she should be able to prevent others from harming her partner, especially when there was a warning beforehand. Flint dropping the cigar was that warning, but Hermione had done nothing. She just _sat_ there as he carved up Draco.

Logically she understood that bad things happened, and as a human, she would make mistakes. This was an unavoidable fact of life. Nevertheless, she set impossible standards for herself. Failing to protect someone she loved was a mistake she found particularly unforgivable.

It was common for Aurors to spend more time in St. Mungo's than witches and wizards who had chosen safer professions. She had been injured on the job several times over the years. Not all of her injuries were serious, but on one occasion she was almost killed.

A couple of years prior, a Dark wizard cursed her with a powerful bone-breaking spell. Many of her bones snapped, including a rib that penetrated her left lung. Hermione was in hospital for three days, and Draco had not once left her bedside.

Later she would learn he killed the wizard. Officially Draco claimed it was self-defense, but Hermione knew the truth of it. An instant after she was struck with the spell, Draco disarmed the wizard with an _Expelliarmus_. She'd watched the wand fly into Draco's hand. It was her last memory before she blacked out from the pain.

Draco had killed him in cold blood.

She was not upset by this. If a wizard used that spell on Draco or Harry or Ginny, she would do the same. Furthermore, they were in pursuit of the wizard because he had dismembered three little girls, none of which were older than six years old.

He _deserved_ to die.

Maybe she had been gazing into the abyss for too long. Maybe instead of simply gazing back, it had taken her in its arms.

"Mr. Flint is conscious," said Shortbird, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. She had asked the healer to keep her updated on Flint's condition.

The pair walked the too-white hospital corridor to Flint's room. Shortbird, in direct contrast to her name, towered far above most everyone's head. If she was irked with Hermione for snapping earlier she made no indication. "I doubt you'll be able to speak with him," she said. "His mind has been corrupted."

Hermione had encountered this type of mental corruption before. The spell was triggered whenever a specific set of memories were activated. When Hermione asked Marcus about the mysterious wizard visiting The Lotus, the spell took effect, compelling him to attack. It was a fail-safe; a way for the bespeller to protect his identity. Why the killer hadn't simply Obliviated Marcus was yet another question that needed an answer.

Flint's entire head was bandaged. He was struggling against the glowing, purple restraints cinched around his wrists, chest, and ankles. "Mum? Why did you tie me up again? I was a good boy wasn't I?"

Her insides went cold. "What's happened to him?" she asked.

"The spell has caused him to regress," said Shortbird. "From what I've gathered he believes he's nine years old."

Hermione neared, wanting to flinch at how frightened he was.

"Please untie me. I promise I'll be good from now on," he pleaded.

Had his mother really tied him up when he misbehaved? She felt as if this knowledge was an invasion of his privacy. If Marcus was sane he never would have told her about his abusive mother.

"Look at your mummy," she said, doing her best to conceal how much his behavior had upset her.

He complied, and she performed a _Legilimens_ with as much delicacy as possible. The majority of his mind was a black void; Hermione had never seen such damage before. She couldn't make sense of it, so she gently withdrew.

"His memories from birth to age nine are intact, but any memories beyond that are destroyed-and probably forever," said Shortbird. The spell, after compelling him to violence, had eaten away his memories. "There's a possibility some of his memories could be restored, but it is slim."

"If there's an improvement in his condition please let me know," said Hermione.

Every Auror had to learn the art of detachment, and Hermione was no exception. There were always dead bodies, and grieving families, and unrepentant murderers, and if she allowed it all to touch her heart she would end up as mad as Marcus. But some things were impossible to detach from. What the killer had done to Draco and Marcus...now it was personal. Draco might have died, and Marcus would spend the rest of his life believing he was nine years old.

She returned to Draco and managed to nod off, only to wake a few hours later with a strain in her neck. Dozing awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair was hard on joints and muscles. She immediately checked on Draco, whose eyes swiveled back and forth beneath his lids.

Would it be so awful if he loved her? Maybe she could find it in herself to love him back. He was her best mate, and they were so compatible it was almost a miracle after the relationship they had during their Hogwarts days. But no, she decided after mulling over it for a while. Draco deserved a woman who was as passionate about him as he was about her. Not a witch who didn't love him in that way.

Healer Shortbird poked her head into the room. "You have a firecall."

"Who is it?"

"It's the elder Mr. Malfoy."

How had Lucius managed to firecall Hermione from Azkaban? And how did he even know Draco was injured?

"Thank you," she said. She was more polite toward the healer now that she was no longer insisting Hermione leave. It helped that Shortbird hadn't scowled or cringed when she mentioned Lucius. Most people did when his name reared in polite conversation.

She didn't waste time pondering why she was so protective of him.

The public floo was at the opposite end of St. Mungo's. Hermione ventured there and knelt into the floo. Lucius was in the warden's office-she recognized the bland landscapes on the walls. They were as motionless as a Muggle painting, since moving portraits weren't allowed inside the prison.

A guard stood behind Lucius, looking irritated but resigned to his fate. Lucius had probably paid him a few galleons to make the firecall.

"Draco will be all right," she said immediately. She thought of how frantic Lucius was during the final battle. How he shouted for Draco, completely oblivious to the war raging around him. "He suffered a _Sectumsempra_ to the chest, but it was attended to almost right away. He'll be released sometime later today."

"Damn that Severus," he said.

Hermione smiled, but it was tired and tight. "That's precisely what I thought."

"Have you had any sleep?"

She blinked. Was he actually concerned for her welfare? "A little. I'll be fine."

"Who attacked my son?"

"Marcus Flint, but it wasn't his fault. The moment we began asking questions he attacked. It was a fail-safe."

She and Lucius stared at one another. His eyes asked if the perpetrator was the killer they'd been discussing, and her eyes said yes. Or so she thought, anyway. Strange that she believed they were communicating silently.

"We'll catch whoever did this to Draco," she promised, and tore her eyes away from his. She didn't much appreciate how they made her heart stutter.

That was when she observed he wore nothing but silky pyjama bottoms and slippers. It seemed he had been roused from bed when informed his son was in St. Mungo's. As she'd guessed, he was quite fit, but scars crisscrossed his shoulders, chest, and arms. They were paled with age, a shade lighter than his skin. She found them alluring, though they proved something terrible had befallen him. Why did he have so many scars?

"I should go in case Draco wakes up," she said quickly.

One side of his mouth quirked, and she was sure he knew why she had ended the conversation so abruptly. "Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night, Mr. Malfoy," she said, and cut the floo connection.

xOxOxOx

"Hermione," said a voice.

She was in a vast field covered in snow. The snow seemed to stretch for an infinity, and the horizon was so gray and lifeless it was as bleak as the vista beneath. She was ankle deep in white, following a trail of blood that seemed much too red.

"Hermione," said the voice, louder now.

She gestured angrily. She was on the trail, and this voice, whoever it belonged to, was distracting. Up a small rise she went, only to see a crumpled form in the distance. Lucius was sprawled on his back, his arms and legs spread so they made an X. Blood poured from the corner of his mouth, pooling on the snow beside his cheek.

His cloak was midnight blue and lined with creamy-colored fur that swayed in the gusting wind. On his right hand was the hideous eye ring. The amber iris pivoted in her direction, as if to glare at her-

"Hermione!" This time the voice had shouted, and something smashed into the side of her head.

She pounced to her feet and glanced around in confusion until she remembered where she was. She was in St. Mungo's. Draco was hurt, and she had fallen asleep in the chair again.

Draco glowered at her. "You were dreaming."

"I know," she said, and glanced at her chair. There was a rolled up copy of the _Daily Prophet_ beside it. Was that what had smashed her in the head? Under normal circumstances she would have complained about him pelting her in the temple, but considering his demeanor she remained silent on the issue.

Tension was building in the room, and she hated it. "How are you feeling?"

"You called my father's name." His voice was so cold she fancied the temperature had dropped.

Her stomach plummeted. "I did?"

"You screamed it very clearly."

Did he think it was a sex dream? That would only make the situation worse. "He was dying in the dream," she clarified. "I found his body."

The news did not make Draco relax in the slightest. "I want you to stay away from him. I've seen how he treats women. Ask my mother how Lucius really is if you have any delusions he will treat you with respect."

"You're speaking as if a relationship is inevitable. It isn't."

He snorted. "My father always seduces the women he sets his sights on."

"But he hasn't set his sights on me."

"This is why I called you obtuse earlier." He sighed and ran fingers through his tousled hair, cringing a bit as the gesture aggravated his wound. "You didn't agree not to see him anymore."

Anger brimmed, but she quelled it with a deep, calming breath. She would not lose her temper, not after what Marcus did to him. "You don't control my life. I do."

"So that's how it is? He's already so far under your skin you won't listen to a word I say?"

"I will listen, but that doesn't mean I'll obey. I'm not yours to command."

His hand curled into a tight fist. "If you become my step mum-"

"Your _what_? Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"I see the way your eyes light up when you talk about him. It's like you're on a diet but you're thinking of a chocolate cake you would like to eat. A forbidden pleasure. I've never seen you look like that when talking about a man before. I have a bad feeling you might fall in love with him."

"This is ridiculous." Even if she did fall in love with Lucius-which she had no intention of doing-that didn't mean he would return the favor.

"If you care about me at all you will Vanish the newest memories he gave you and never contact him again."

"I don't do well with ultimatums. If you were really my friend-"

"Go home and rest. I'll meet you later and we'll work on the case."

"But you've been hurt."

He managed a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be fine. Now sod off."

xOxOxOx

Upon floo'ing to Grimmauld Place, Hermione didn't even bother to _Scourgify_ the soot covering her. Ginny rushed forward, sensing that something was amiss.

"Hermione? What's wrong?"

In spite of Ginny's sporadic drunken rants, she was Hermione's closest female friend. And as annoying as those rants were, Ginny had Hermione's best interests at heart. This was the reason Hermione put up with them.

The next thing Hermione knew she was confessing all. Her conversations with Lucius, the contents of his memories, the cottage by the sea, and Draco's suspicion they were attracted to one another.

"Draco was angry about it," said Hermione, when she was done.

Ginny shoved a cup of tea into Hermione's grasp. Tea sloshed out and wetted Hermione's jumper, but she didn't care. "Draco's been in love with you for ages."

Hermione felt the blood seep from her face. Maybe she was as obtuse as Draco claimed, at least where men were concerned. Otherwise she would have seen what Ginny and Lucius had already noticed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew-it's so obvious."

"Damn it," she said. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"You have to follow your heart, as cliché as that is. You don't love Draco, do you? At least not like he loves you."

Hermione shook her head.

"Then there's nothing you can do. You either love someone or you don't. You can't force it. What do you think he will do when you tell him you don't feel the same?"

Her stomach burned like she had chugged battery acid. "I don't want to have to tell him anything."

Avoidance was her favorite method of dealing with her personal issues. Her knee jerk reaction was to rely on it in this situation. It was an ingrained habit.

"If you still want to be partners with him it would be best to resolve it as soon as possible."

Hermione covered her face with her hands, knowing Ginny was right but hating the idea. Once she explained to Draco how she felt about him, he might not want to work with her any longer. She could lose the best partner she ever had _and_ her best mate in one swoop.

The women were quiet for a while. Hermione sipped her tea, and the warmth in her belly helped to settle her frayed nerves.

"I understand Lucius had a secret life, and he seems to not be as prejudiced as we thought," said Ginny. "But he did almost to kill me. How can you be attracted to a killer?"

Her attraction to killers was one of the reasons she was so good at what she did. They fascinated her. They were Dark puzzles just waiting for her to solve. And Lucius gave her a thrill, didn't he? He was gorgeous and dangerous and mysterious. He could probably murder her without blinking…Now why would something so disturbing arouse her?

"I'm fucked up, Ginny," she blurted. "Dysfunctional doesn't even adequately cover how fucked up I am."

It seemed the abyss had embraced her…and she had embraced it back.

xOxOxOx

"How is Draco?" asked Dean Thomas.

"He's recuperating."

Hermione should have gone home after leaving Ginny's. Her sleep had been sketchy at best, but she knew she would only have tossed and turned. Rather than waste time she decided to do something useful. Which was why she invited Dean to brunch.

"I'm assuming this isn't a social call," he said dryly, after she erected a privacy ward.

"I need you to copy a file for me. There can't be a record of what you've done."

Normally Hermione would have filled out a requisition form to acquire the file, but in this instance she didn't want there to be a paper trail. Since Dean worked in the Records department he had access to the file and could copy it for her in secret.

"I see," said Dean, after an appreciable pause. "You realize if I'm caught I could lose my job."

"You would be taking a risk, but not a gratuitous one."

Dean was still very much a Gryffindor. He would take a risk in order to do what he considered the right thing.

"Whose file would I be copying?"

"Kent Blackburn's."

"Why not just fill out the appropriate paperwork?" asked Dean.

"You know as well as I do there are spies in our division. If I did this according to protocol Blackburn would find out I've requisitioned his file. He will realize I suspect him, and he'll be even more careful. But if he thinks he's fooled us all he might slip up. Make a mistake."

"Do you really think Mr. Blackburn killed three people?"

"There's a high probability that it was him, yes. And I think if it _is_ him, he intends to kill again soon. If I can study his file, I might find evidence substantiating my theory. Then Shacklebolt will have to act. We can stop Blackburn from murdering more innocent people."

"Okay," he said, and released a gust of air. "But if I'm sacked..."

"You're clever, Dean. Surely you can do this without anyone knowing."

After returning to her flat, Hermione pored over the crime scene photographs and brooded over the case. At some point she retrieved Lucius's pensieve memory and set it on the table before her. Occasionally she glanced at it, wondering what the memories contained.

"We should view the memories now, seeing as how you're already staring at them," said Draco.

She jumped at his sudden voice and nearly knocked over the vial. Panic bolted through her at the thought of it breaking, the precious memories spilling onto the floor-

_Precious_ memories? What in the hell was wrong with her? A few memories and a couple of amicable discussions, and she was smitten. With Lucius Malfoy, who had almost killed Ginny. Who had tried to kill her friends at the Department of Mysteries.

Draco slipped through the floo and plucked the vial from the table. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the careful manner in which he moved, he should not have been active already. Telling him that would be a waste of breath, though.

Unspoken words loomed heavily between them as they entered her memory cache. Draco Summoned the pensieve and poured in the whirling, silvery-gray fluid. Together they dipped their faces into the basin.

_

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and put this on alert!


	7. The Chamber

Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters.

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and put this story on alert!_

_Sorry for the delay. Marriage problems + a three year old daughter = no time to work on story!_

Warning for violence. Rated M for a reason.

Chapter Seven

The Chamber

Hermione and Draco appeared at the cottage by the sea. They had materialized in a foyer, but the room was dark. She impatiently waited for her vision to adjust.

The sound of the ocean waves would normally have soothed her, but something to the atmosphere of the memory put her on edge. Draco seemed to agree. He was too stiff, and his hands were fisted at his sides.

Shadows shifted, and Lucius crept by, close enough she could have touched him. He paused, wand poised, and squared his shoulders as if steeling himself for a blow. The door opened, seemingly of its own volition, and he hesitated before crossing the threshold.

The Dark Lord stood near a cliff edge, his gaunt form silhouetted against the ocean. Even in a memory he radiated an aura of raw, Dark power.

Claudia floated beside him. Curled into a tight ball, she reminded Hermione of a fetus drifting within its mother's womb. She was content, her lips curled midst a blissful dream, with no idea her bliss was about to shatter into jagged shards.

_This is probably the last time Claudia _ever_ felt content_, Hermione thought. Though she had guessed the Dark Lord might catch the lovers, dread mushroomed inside her. This memory would not have a happy ending.

"I found your mudblood pet," said the Dark Lord. "Did you think you could hide her from me?"

Lucius said nothing, but his face twisted with a mixture of fear and anger before settling into unreadable coldness.

The Dark Lord gestured, and Claudia plunged to the ground. The impact roused her, for her lids fluttered open. She saw Lucius and smiled dreamily, but when she saw the Dark Lord she froze.

"You know what you must do, Lucius. You must kill the mudblood."

"Lucius?" she asked, and glanced between the two wizards in confusion. She didn't seem to understand that the situation was real. Perhaps she believed her blissful dreams had taken a dark turn.

The seconds ticked, and still Lucius had not raised his wand. A breeze stirred, and his long, platinum hair flew back from his cheeks.

"I see," said the Dark Lord. "You can not bring yourself to kill the mudblood."

Silence from Lucius. His wand would have snapped if he gripped it any tighter.

The Dark Lord _tsk_ed in disappointment but did not seem surprised. "Killing her should be like squashing an insect."

Claudia's initial shock had faded, and she tried to stand but could not budge. The Dark Lord must have cast a sticking charm, or a similar spell, upon the witch. She searched for her wand, but each time her fingers plunged into a robe pocket they reemerged empty. Her eyes widened. "Lucius..._please_-"

Lucius had finally raised his wand, but it shook in his trembling hands. He sucked in a breath, stiffened his spine, and the wand no longer trembled.

Green light strobed, temporarily brightening the night like a bolt of lightning. Only the curse went wide, streaking harmlessly over the cliff edge.

"You disappoint me," said the Dark Lord. "What good are you if you can't bring yourself to kill a mudblood? I've been too lenient. Now I must teach you what it truly means to be a Death Eater."

The memory wavered and blurred, and when it popped into sharp relief Hermione and Draco had been transported to a new setting. Flaming torches illuminated a stone chamber.

Lucius was in chains. The chains were bolted to the wall at his back and were connected to metal cuffs at his wrists. He writhed as a fat man _Crucio_'d him.

Hermione recognized the fat man. He was Cygnus Carrow, an uncle to Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the siblings who had taken such pleasure in brutalizing Hogwarts students during Hermione's seventh year. Apparently they had inherited their uncle's torture fetish. He grinned maniacally as Lucius seized.

Claudia was shackled in a similar fashion, but she was positioned along the opposite wall. She shouted her lover's name and begged Cygnus to stop. At first she was ignored, but Cygnus tired of the ruckus and muted her with a quick _Silencio_.

His task accomplished, he focused on Lucius again. "The Dark Lord said not to permanently damage your pretty face, but everything else..."

Lucius had gone limp; without the chains holding him aloft he would have collapsed. He managed to lift his head. The glare he aimed at his torturer made every hair on the nape of Hermione's neck stand on end. She knew that look. It said, _I will kill you when I have the chance_.

Cygnus must have understood the look as well. Red coursed from his wand.

Lucius's bare chest was slashed and shredded until it was a mess of blood and raw meat. It must have been excruciating, but he hardly made any noise. This was deliberate, Hermione knew, a way for Lucius to defy his torturer. He would not give Cygnus the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Some of the lesions were so deep she saw glimpses of organ or bone, and he had lost a copious amount of blood—too much, in fact. Much more of this and he would die.

Her chest tightened at the thought, until she reminded herself this was a memory. Lucius was very much alive. She glanced at Draco, who stood next to her, unmoving and silent. What was he feeling? He hated Lucius, but seeing his father suffer must have distressed him. On impulse she stretched out an arm to touch him, to offer comfort...but he slid out of reach.

"You have your pride, Pretty Boy," said Cygnus. "But your pride won't save you. The body can only withstand so much pain before the mind cracks. I'll break you, and when I do, I will hear you scream. _Everyone_ eventually breaks."

True to his word, Cygnus sliced and burned and stabbed Lucius with an arsenal of Dark spells. Whenever Lucius blacked out from the pain, Cygnus revived him. Whenever he hovered near death, Cygnus healed him. This occurred over and over and over again.

Hermione soon understood that Cygnus was experimenting. He noted what happened if he applied certain spells to certain body parts. He monitored Lucius's reaction to varying forms of stimuli and was usually delighted by his victim's responses.

She had to look away on several occasions. Draco, however, was determine to watch. He had yet to avert his gaze.

She had witnessed torture many times in the memories she'd collected, and though it was never pretty she had learned how to observe with as little feeling as possible. But when Lucius yowled in such agony he sounded like a wounded animal, a torrent of emotions burgeoned. This was a sound no human should ever be forced to make.

Her first instinct was a protective one. Wrath boiled within her, and if Cygnus hadn't been a figment she would have cursed him without a smidgen of remorse.

The desire was foolish for a few reasons. For one, this had occurred years ago—it was already over and done with. For another, Lucius had been in Cygnus's place more than once; he had tortured others as well. In that case, didn't he deserve it?

_No_, said an inner voice. _No one deserves this. Not even Lucius Malfoy._

_Besides_, the voice went on. _In this memory he is still young. He has not tortured or murdered yet, so he is basically an innocent. This is why my first instinct was to protect him. _

Her second instinct, on the heels of the first, had been to hold him, to ease his pain. She shied away from analyzing why.

It was clear what finally caused Lucius to scream. Cygnus had begun to peel the skin from Lucius's chest in long, bloody strips. Only the thinnest layer of flesh remained, and patches of it were slightly translucent, revealing the viscera and rib cage beneath. Bile coated the back of Hermione's throat, and her wrath boiled all the more.

Cygnus leered as he methodically ripped flesh from bone. Lucius cried out in that wounded animal way, and the chains clinked and jangled and swung.

Hermione's eye was attracted to the motion of the chains, and she saw the bolts securing them to the wall had loosened. If more pressure was applied the bolts might slide out of position. They even bounced a bit each time Lucius pulled at the chains. Cygnus did not seem to notice; he was too thrilled by the screams his ministrations were eliciting.

Once more the pain was too much for Lucius to bear. Head lolling, he slumped forward and lost consciousness. Before Cygnus could revive him, the Dark Lord swept into the chamber. His brisk demeanor announced he had too many things to do and not enough time to do them. He seemed to have penciled in the torture as an expected part of his busy schedule. "Wake him, you imbecile. And heal him before he dies."

Cygnus obliged. Lucius jolted, then sagged against the chains, fighting to remain on his feet.

"You are too important to our cause to lose," said the Dark Lord, as Cygnus repaired Lucius's mutilated tissue. "I will not have you killed, but the torture will continue until you obey, even it takes _days_ for you to do so. Kill the mudblood and I will reward you. Obey me and your pain will end."

Lucius's gaze shot to Claudia, who had begun to sob. "I..." He cleared his throat, as the word was a croak. When he spoke again it was with more strength, though his voice shook. "I can not..."

"You mean you will not," said the Dark Lord. "You have made your choice, then." He waved a hand at Cygnus as he left. "Proceed."

Cygnus particularly enjoyed breaking bones. Hermione remembered the pain of the bone-breaking curse and winced as Lucius's limbs were bent and snapped, one after another.

"You're so beautiful when you scream for me," Cygnus said, and in such a lusty fashion Hermione shivered. For some sadists, inflicting pain was akin to a sexual experience. A minority even climaxed as they tortured their victims.

Lucius was battered, bloody, and maimed, but he did not break. At any time he could have escaped his torment by agreeing to kill Claudia, but he did not. Sometimes he screamed until his voice cracked. Sometimes he growled or snarled as if a primitive side of him had been awakened by the pain. But he never, ever asked for it to stop, because doing so meant he would have to kill the woman he loved.

The memory blurred and wavered, and when a new one emerged the situation had not changed. Hours must have passed. Lucius had a slight sprouting of facial hair—he couldn't exactly shave under the circumstances-and the Dark Lord had donned a different robe. "You are not as soft as I once believed," he said. His voice was silky, seductive, almost hypnotic. "But I mean to make you stronger, Lucius. To mold you into a wizard I will be proud to call my own. Kill the mudblood and you will be freed. Let her be your first."

Lucius's wand appeared in his hand. It nearly slipped from his grasp, but his fingers curled around it.

"Please me and your suffering will end," said the Dark Lord. "Obey me and you will have peace."

Claudia's lips worked, but she was still silenced and no sound issued. Frantically, she mouthed, "No, no, no..."

Lucius swung the wand in her direction. When that familiar coldness overcame him, Hermione thought he would strike...but instead his arm drooped, and the wand clattered to the floor.

"She is an abomination. Her Muggle blood taints her, and yet you can not end her life." The Dark Lord shook his head, as if Lucius was a disgrace. "You have not learned your lesson yet."

Lucius's wand vanished when the Dark Lord strode out of the chamber. The cadence of his footsteps diminished until they were no more.

The memory dissolved and was replaced by another. It was impossible to tell how much time had elapsed, but Hermione suspected it had been several more hours.

Now Lucius's face was so distended and blackened he was barely recognizable. There were bloody, gaping holes where his teeth should have been. And his eyes...mere slits as they were nearly swollen shut.

Hadn't Cygnus mentioned he was not allowed to damage Lucius's face? After reflecting on his statement, she recalled he said he was not to _permanently_ damage it. Whatever injuries he'd inflicted, he was confident he could heal them so well there wouldn't be a mark left behind.

Ironically, the most effective torturers were also the best healers. Their victims were toys who had only one purpose: to amuse them. Breaking their toys too quickly would spoil their fun, so they learned how to repair them in order to play with them longer.

"You are a fool," said Cygnus. "Sacrificing yourself for a mudblood. Eventually you will break and kill her—that is inevitable. You should have killed her two days ago and spared yourself the pain. If you had you would already be far away from here."

Hermione gasped. Lucius had been tortured for _two days_? She was amazed he could still function. Cygnus had healed him along the way, but his body and mind had suffered a tremendous amount of strain. Many wizards would have fallen into madness after experiencing that level of torture.

Lucius did not comment. His knees buckled, but he hoisted himself back up. He did not need to speak to make his point; his sheer stubbornness made the point for him.

Cygnus clucked disapprovingly, but was pleased he could continue. And each time Lucius tugged at the chains, Hermione watched the bolts. They had slipped out of the wall even further...

"She _is_ lovely for a mudblood," said Cygnus a bit later. The fat man had just forced a blood replenishing potion down Lucius's mouth. Because the potion would take a few minutes to work, Cygnus had a brief waiting period before he could begin again. "I'm not to harm her, but our master did not forbid me from touching her..."

Claudia peered at the floor without blinking, and was motionless as Cygnus squeezed her breast. She had lapsed into a semi-catatonia. Watching her lover tortured for hours on end had been too much for her mind to process, and as a result it had shut down.

The instant Cygnus pawed her, Lucius growled low in his throat and thrashed against the chains more vigorously than ever before. The bolts gave, bursting from the wall in a shower of dust and stone fragments. Cygnus barely had time to turn in surprise before Lucius pounced, wrapping the chain around his neck in one fluid motion. He jerked the chain backward, his arm muscles bulging from the exertion.

Cygnus had dropped his wand when the chain coiled around him, and he had no means of defending himself. He gasped for oxygen and clawed at his throat. He bucked back and forth in a panic, and his eyes bugged until it seemed they might pop from his head. The more Cygnus struggled, the harder Lucius throttled him.

At last, Cygnus wilted, sliding to the ground in a heap.

For a moment Lucius stared at his torturer, his face alit with triumph and hate. Then, ever so slowly, he limped toward Claudia. The unexpected turn of events had not woken her from her daze. She didn't move, not even when Lucius retrieved Cygnus's wand and Vanished their shackles. He enfolded her in his arms and slung her over one shoulder so his wand hand was free. His tenderness was startling after the brutal murder he had committed.

After Disillusioning them both, he pushed the door open. He sneaked out of the chamber, invisible except for a faint quivering of air...

The memory faded to black, and Hermione yanked her head from the pensieve. There was always a brief disorientation after being immersed in a lengthy memory, especially one that was charged with emotion.

Draco looked ill. She had no idea what to say to him, but that didn't matter. He rushed out before she could think of anything.

Hermione didn't blame him for running. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to witness her father tortured, or kill someone with his bare hands. But it wasn't Draco that plagued her thoughts. It was Lucius.

She envisioned herself in that chamber, with someone she loved in chains. Would she have broken and killed her lover? Or would she have been as strong as Lucius and refused? She would like to think she had his strength, but there was no predicting what a person would do after days of excruciating pain.

Cygnus was right about one thing. Eventually everyone breaks.


	8. Consequences

Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and put this story on alert!_

Chapter Eight

Consequences

Hermione navigated through the maze of cubicles in the Auror division, clenching a stack of files to her chest. Neville Longbottom waved hello. She waved back, but she was distracted. Minister Shacklebolt had scheduled a meeting to discuss the murders.

Shacklebolt was a competent minister, but he was also a politician. She would prefer he not interfere.

Draco would have chuckled and said, "Good luck keeping out the politicians." But she hadn't seen Draco since they viewed Lucius's memories the day before. When she attempted to contact him, he didn't answer his two-way mirror and his floos were firmly shut.

It seemed he didn't care to speak to anyone. Or perhaps to her in particular.

She'd considered Apparating to Malfoy Manor to check on him in person but decided against it. If he needed a little time to process everything he'd seen in his father's memories, she would give it to him. Hell, she needed time to process everything she'd seen.

The more she dwelled on what Lucius had endured-and she had been dwelling on it almost non-stop since she yanked her head from the pensieve-the more she yearned to visit him. Everything he had suffered, everything he had sacrificed, for the woman he loved, for a _Muggle-born_…

In fact, she was weighing the pros and cons of visiting Lucius again when Harry firecalled about the meeting. Despite her reservations, the pro side was winning. If she hadn't been summoned she might be at Azkaban right now.

Hermione could guess why Lucius left the memory on a cliffhanger. It was a manipulation, a way to lure her back into his web. He knew her curiosity would burn until she collected the next memory. She didn't care to fall victim to his ploy, but she was more than tempted to play along so she could view the rest.

And there were other reasons she wished to see him.

_I'm beginning to think my father intends to seduce you..._

Draco's words echoed in her head. Was that really the reason Lucius wanted her to return to him? And if so, why? Why in the world would Lucius Malfoy of all wizards want _her_?

Harry's office loomed in the distance, and she picked up her pace, striking Lucius from her mind. Now was not the time to ponder her bizarre situation with him.

She came face to face with two wizards when she entered the office. Harry sat behind his desk, and Minister Shacklebolt stood by the window.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," said Harry. There was a tightness to his mouth-it was the way he looked after bickering with Ron. She wondered if Harry and Shacklebolt had been arguing.

"Hello, sir," she said. She only ever called Harry _Sir_ under formal circumstances, and his tone and word choices had clued her in that this was formal. "Minister Shacklebolt."

"Miss Granger," said Shacklebolt with a nod. He rubbed at his bald skull as if to spit shine it. "I would like to see your analysis of the killer."

Hermione handed him the report she'd been compiling since the bodies were found. Shacklebolt frowned as he began to read, and the frown deepened with each paragraph. "Do you already have a suspect in mind?"

"Nothing definitive," she said carefully.

"But you do believe someone fits the criteria."

She didn't like telling anyone but Draco (and now Lucius, it seemed) about her suspicions when they were based solely on her immersive technique. But she had no choice; Shacklebolt himself had asked. "Kent Blackburn."

"Mr. Blackburn is a respected man. I will not have you making unfounded charges against him."

"I have made no charges against him, but he is a suspect."

"Yet you have no proof that he was involved."

"That is correct."

"Then you are assuming he is the killer without evidence."

"I'm assuming he _might_ be the killer. As I said, I have nothing definitive."

Shacklebolt's frown remained. His crow's feet were deeply carved into his skin, and he looked as if he hadn't enjoyed a full night's sleep in ages. "What do you believe the killer will do next?"

Hermione plucked Ingrid Genue's file from the stack and offered it to Shacklebolt. "He will choose another victim from the Order of Venus. After studying every member I believe he will target Miss Genue next. And soon."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because she is young, blonde, and beautiful like Morta. In the killer's eyes she is a symbol of purity-a purity he enjoys defiling. She is his type."

"How do you suggest we proceed?" asked Shacklebolt. On the surface this seemed to be a request for advice, but Hermione sensed it was more of a test.

"I suggest we watch our suspect. Track his movements, see if he has any contact with Miss Genue. I believe he's been spying on her and perhaps following her for some time. He has probably found a way to slither into her life. He would feel a need to be close to her, to talk to her. Surveillance would also offer an opportunity to gather clues."

"I will not have the Auror division spying on a Wizengamot member with no evidence to back it up," snapped Shacklebolt.

"Then I suggest we continue to have Aurors watching Miss Genue. The killer will strike again. We need to prevent it, and we could catch him red-handed."

"No," said Shacklebolt.

"No?" Hermione blurted, surprised that he had denied her recommendation so abruptly. Granted, Shacklebolt had never been a proponent of her immersive technique, but he usually gave her the benefit of the doubt before passing judgment.

He waved her report. "We can't waste division resources on a hunch."

"With all due respect, sir," said Harry. "Hermione's hunches are usually very accurate. If she says Miss Genue is next I would take it seriously."

"Noted, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt said. "But my decision stands. Until you have anything more substantial than a gut instinct I can not assign any Aurors to Miss Genue or anyone else."

"Then she's dead," Hermione said bluntly.

Shacklebolt's face went hard. "I'm far more interested in Lucius Malfoy's involvement."

"I don't believe Mr. Malfoy is involved." She sounded calm, but her heart was suddenly racing. Lucius would make the perfect scapegoat.

"The victims were killed by a potion he created-a potion recipe which conveniently disappeared from his cell."

"Which I believe was stolen by Quintus Finch. From there Mr. Finch gave the recipe to the killer."

"There is no proof of that."

"He had access to Mr. Malfoy's cell around the time the recipe was stolen. And let's not forget he was murdered. Yes, it's circumstantial, but it does point to the fact that the killer-"

"I have a theory of my own, Miss Granger. Would you like to hear it?" Shacklebolt cut in.

She pushed back her frustration, which had been swelling since the conversation began. "Yes, sir."

"Mr. Malfoy gave the recipe to Quintus Finch with the express instructions of delivering it to an accomplice. That accomplice used the potion on our victims. Later Mr. Finch was killed in order to cover Mr. Malfoy's tracks. Mr. Potter, show her Mr. Finch's financial records please."

Harry slid a file across his desk, and Hermione grabbed it. She had already requested to examine the victims' financial transactions. It was a long process because the Gringott's goblins were reluctant to release the information. Shacklebolt had somehow convinced them to cooperate.

After scanning the document, she noticed an impressive sum of galleons were deposited into Mr. Finch's vault around the time the recipe was stolen.

"This doesn't prove Mr. Malfoy was involved," she said, and glanced up from the file. Harry's gaze sharpened. He was probably asking himself why she was defending Lucius, and he would ask her about it later. That was not a conversation she was looking forward to. "Anyone could have paid Mr. Finch to steal the recipe."

"It does prove that whoever paid Mr. Finch has a vast amount of galleons at his disposal," said Shacklebolt. "Who is a more likely suspect? The ex-Death Eater who created the potion, or Kent Blackburn, a high ranking Wizengamot member with a spotless reputation?"

"Mr. Blackburn knew Morta and Finch. They dined at his home-"

"From where I'm standing it seems more likely that Mr. Malfoy orchestrated the killings. Which is why I've ordered him to be interrogated under Veritaserum. He is being questioned now."

A cold sweat broke out on Hermione's spine. Why was she not informed of this? She was the lead investigator. Fairly often Shacklebolt interfered with her cases and ordered her to look at specific suspects. Normally he ordered her to perform the interrogations, but instead he had deliberately snubbed her.

"I'm confident your suspicions about Mr. Malfoy will be proven false," she said.

"We shall see."

"Why are you fighting me on this, sir? Normally you're supportive of my opinion-"

"An opinion is not fact. I will only respond to facts."

"If I suspected anyone other than a Wizengamot member, we would have a surveillance team following his every move. You're risking Ingrid's life so you won't make any political waves. This is about reelection, not about protecting the innocent!"

Hermione's frustration had poured out even though it was stupid to yell at the Minister of Magic. But she felt so helpless. How could she save Ingrid if he was unwilling to offer the witch protection?

"Out, Miss Granger, before I lose my temper," he said, and pointed at the door. "And stay away from Kent Blackburn unless you wish to find yourself in a world of trouble."

xOxOxOx

When Hermione reached interrogation room A less than five minutes later, she was met with a sight she hadn't expected. A crowd of Aurors were crammed into the room. A group of them blocked her view of the table, where she assumed Lucius and his interrogator were, but she didn't have to see Lucius to know something was very wrong.

Most of the Aurors were excited, like they were watching a Quidditch game and their favorite team was winning. The others were grim, their faces shining with vengeance. She pushed through the throng and came to a halt.

Lucius's wrists and ankles were bound with the purple magical cuffs. Before him was an Auror—former Ravenclaw Terry Boot-who reared his fist back and punched Lucius in the jaw. Lucius's head jolted from the blow, and the spectators grunted and hooted.

This was not the first punch. One of Lucius's eyes was bruised, and his lips were cracked. Blood leaked down his chin. The beating had just started, unless he'd been healed and Boot started anew.

In a flash she saw Lucius with a turgid, blackened face, with gaping, bloody holes where his teeth should have been; she heard the clinking of the chains as he thrashed, and that horrible wounded animal sound-

"Stop!" she commanded.

The room fell silent. She never fully recognized how loud silence could truly be until then, as her fellow Aurors stared at her. Some seemed embarrassed, even a fraction guilty, but the majority were annoyed their fun had been interrupted.

Hermione fought not to rush over to Lucius to make sure he was all right. "What you are doing is illegal. Not to mention wrong."

Boot sneered and popped his knuckles. "This is Lucius Malfoy. He deserves it."

"Don't make me stun you." Her wand was in her hand cobra-quick.

His jaw tightened as he seemed to be deciding how to respond. Meanwhile, her mind whirred. Rumors of Hermione Granger saving Lucius Malfoy would spread through Ministry headquarters like wildfire, and she was analyzing what conclusions everyone would reach. Most likely they would simply think she had done what she deemed to be morally right; despite the changes she had undergone, many still viewed her as a goody two-shoes Gryffindor. Chances were no one would speculate that she had another motive, one that involved having _feelings_ for Lucius.

"_Expecto Patronum_," she said, and her silver otter emerged from her wand tip. The otter had once been a playful creature, but in the last several years it had become more aggressive. It stalked back and forth as she relayed a message to Harry Potter, then rushed through the wall, soaring toward his office.

Realizing their boss-and the Savior of the Wizarding World who would _not_ approve of the situation-had been alerted, the Aurors filed out. A few glowered at her, but most were moving as swiftly as possible.

As the room emptied, she noticed Pearl, the grandmotherly Azkaban guard. She had simply stood back and watched. Had she enjoyed the show? Hermione was flabbergasted; the witch had seemed so sweet. She had even called Hermione a hero.

_One can never trust flatterers_, Hermione reminded herself. The kind, grandmotherly façade was false. Which made Hermione wonder how well the guards treated Lucius. Were they beating him regularly and healing him afterward to conceal their crimes?

Boot glared at Lucius before pushing passed Hermione, purposely bumping into her as he went. There was blood smeared on his hands, and her rage surged once more.

"Don't you ever touch me again, Boot," she said, a bit impressed with the venom in her tone. She turned to watch him leave the room—she would rather not have her back to him. This was the first time she didn't trust her own safety with a fellow Auror.

Harry must have walked by him in the corridor, for a second later he appeared. He took in Lucius's battered face with an unreadable expression. "Mr. Malfoy, would you like to press charges?"

"No," said Lucius.

Hermione chanced a peek at him, and saw that, despite the circumstances, he appeared as elegant and composed as he generally did. She feared if she stared too long Harry or Pearl would detect something amiss. Her emotions were written all over her face, no matter how hard she struggled to hide them. After viewing his memories the night before, only to see him being brutalized in _reality_ the very next day…

"Please escort Mr. Malfoy back to Azkaban," Harry said to Pearl. "And I hope he will be taken to the infirmary for healing."

"Yes, Mr. Potter," she said. The sound of her sweet, grandmotherly voice made Hermione grit her teeth.

All too soon, she caught herself staring at Lucius again. His eyes had a devilish glint that sometimes filled Draco's eyes when he was pleased.

If he was bothered by the beating, he certainly didn't show it. Maybe he was used to it. Hermione was troubled by the idea.

"I would like to speak to you," said Harry, and gestured for her to follow.

Then she was striding down the hall, wondering if Lucius would be safe. Would he be taken to a healer? Would Pearl explain to the other guards what had happened? Would they decide to rough him up themselves since the beating was interrupted?

Neither she or Harry spoke until they were safely in his office and a myriad of privacy wards had been erected.

Harry plucked off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Who was the ringleader?"

"Terry Boot," she said, after swiftly donning her professional mask. It was easier to do now that she was no longer in the same room as Lucius.

"I'm not surprised. There have been complaints about him, people claiming he treated them roughly during their arrests." A pause. "Death Eaters killed his mother."

"That doesn't excuse what he did."

"I agree." Another pause, and his gaze sharpened like it had during the meeting with Shacklebolt. "There isn't much Ginny and I don't tell one another."

Hermione remembered her discussion with Ginny about Lucius and the memories and Draco's suspicions. "I know."

"Whatever you're doing with Lucius Malfoy, you should stop."

Part of her panicked at the notion of obeying Harry. Could she turn away from Lucius now? Could she wash her hands of him, never return to his cell? "Is that an order, sir?"

"I'm speaking as your best mate, not your boss." He sighed and slipped his glasses back on. "He's a dangerous and manipulative man. Trusting him would be foolish."

She knew it was true, but there was a spike of anger at his words. _How far have you fallen, Hermione?_, she asked herself, and another part of her was suddenly terrified. Knowing her voice might betray the emotions swirling in her, she remained silent.

"I have the transcripts from Mr. Malfoy's interrogation. It was delivered to me before my Aurors used him as a punching bag," Harry said with a note of distaste. "He's been cleared. He was not involved in the three murders."

Hermione was relieved because she'd fostered that nugget of doubt, the one that told her Lucius might be guilty. Now Shacklebolt would be forced to concede that Lucius was innocent. No one could lie while under the effects of Veritaserum.

She longed to punch something as she reviewed her meeting with the minister. More than once she'd wondered if he was corrupt, if he could be bought.

There was a reason he was protecting Blackburn. Was it merely because Blackburn was influential, and Shacklebolt didn't wish to burn any political bridges? Or was there something else to it?

"Will you punish Terry Boot?" she asked.

"I will deal with him."

She knew Harry would, but she had to ask. "What about assigning Aurors to watch Miss Genue?"

"If I ignore a direct order from Shacklebolt..."

"She could be killed, Harry. I can't stake out her house twenty-four/seven."

"Let me think about it," he said finally.

"Is there anything else?"

He seemed determined to say more-probably about Lucius-but he said no. His hand wandered to the lightning bolt scar, as it tended to do when he was stressed. The action was so familiar a warmth spread through her. He had only warned her about Lucius because he didn't want to see her hurt.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, and left the office.

As she ventured through the maze of cubicles, people whispered and stared. Apparently the news of her rescue had spread. She sought refuge in her cubicle and dropped into the chair behind her desk. Two rolled parchments awaited her there.

The first missive was from Gwenog Jones, the captain of the Holyhead Harpies, who Hermione had owled after questioning Ingrid Genue. Jones confirmed that Morta had been offered a chaser position on the team. She also confirmed that Morta had not yet signed the contract before she was killed.

The second missive read:

_Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow at 10 a.m. Room 105. _

_ -Dean_

Hermione smiled. Dean had already managed to copy Blackburn's file. She expected it to take a few days, as he had to find the right opportunity to do it, but he'd worked faster than she imagined he would. This was the first bit of good news she had received all day, and her mood greatly improved.

She Vanished the letter so no one would be able to read it. Dean had risked his job to help her; she would not leave a hint of proof that he had done a thing wrong.

xOxOxOx

A blue bolt slammed into Hermione's shield. Blue streaks crawled over the invisible barrier as Hermione dove and rolled. The wizard shifted to fire again.

Sweat poured down her forehead in rivulets. Her muscles screamed, and the stitch in her side throbbed as she sprung to her feet. Another blue bolt hit and sliced through her shield, knocking her into the wall with such force the air was thrust out of her lungs.

"End!" she cried, before the wizard could attack afresh.

The wizard blurred and disappeared. He was a powerful dueling partner; several dueling champions had helped program him. He was almost impossible to beat. She had never won a duel with him before, but this morning her performance was dreadful. She feared she was losing her edge, and in her line of work one mistake could land her in a body bag.

Typically she and Draco sparred, but he had yet to answer his floo or his two-way mirror. Later, perhaps, she would Apparate to Malfoy Manor.

Hermione planted her hands on her knees, feeling her blood pulsate through her veins at a breakneck pace. She exited her spare room and headed to the shower, peeling off clothes as she went. As tired as she was, her mind continued to spin.

A To-Do List had already been devised. The items were in no particular order.

_-Meet Dean to collect Blackburn's file at 10:00._

_-Check cold cases for murders that fit Blackburn's MO. Look for young witches whose bodies were left for others to find. Some of them might have complained a man peeped at them before their deaths._

_-Check Archives for all back issues of the Daily Prophet with articles about Blackburn._ (Perhaps she could learn something of value about him in this fashion.)

_-Do something about Draco._ (But what?)

_-Should I visit Lucius?_

The last item gave her pause. Her first impulse was to answer with a resounding yes, but she knew she needed to think before she made a decision. This was why she hadn't visited him after she caught Terry Boot using him as a punching bag.

Now that Lucius was officially cleared as a suspect in the murders, she had no professional reason to visit him. Already people were gossiping about how she saved him; what would her colleagues say when they discovered she was visiting him in her free time? The guards would spread the word the instant she showed up at Azkaban.

She cared about her reputation, but not enough to stop her from doing what she chose. If she hadn't been so confused about her feelings she would have already gone to see him, gossip or no gossip.

Hermione wasn't accustomed to being confused. Usually she would analyze a problem, weigh the pros and cons, and make a decision. But in this instance, figuring out how to proceed was difficult.

There were consequences to consider. Her friends would be concerned if she started a friendship—or whatever she had—with Lucius, Draco especially. This would cause friction in her personal and professional life, since Draco was her partner. There was another consequence to consider as well. Draco was convinced Lucius meant to seduce her. If she returned to Lucius, he might have the impression she was interested. And that was the fly in the ointment. She _was_ interested.

Her attraction to him provoked her to contemplate things she would rather not contemplate. How could she fancy him so much? At one time the man had been her mortal enemy, and he probably would have killed her if he had the chance. Yet, he was her last thought upon falling asleep the night prior, and he was her first thought upon waking.

In addition, she couldn't forget the fact that she didn't trust him. Distrust was not a foundation for any sort of relationship.

Still, the urge to see him mounted. Sometimes there was an ache inside when she imagined never seeing him again.

Was she infatuated with Lucius Malfoy?

It was a question she would have liked to ignore, but she was smart enough to realize this was a problem she must confront. The best strategy was to face it and determine the right course. She couldn't run away from it forever.

_Maybe I'll ponder it in more depth tomorrow_, said her inner voice.

Hermione shook her head as she stepped out of the shower. There she was, avoiding the issue again.

She dried herself with a spell, applied light cosmetics, and dressed. While she worked she decided to speak with Draco as soon as possible. He'd been MIA for the last couple of days. Not only was she worried about him, but she needed his help with the case.

She Apparated directly into Malfoy Manor. Draco had keyed her into the wards years ago. Initially she was uncomfortable taking such a direct route into his home, but now it was commonplace.

Before she and Draco became partners, whenever she thought of Malfoy Manor she would inevitably recall how she was tortured by Bellatrix. The manor had loomed in her mind as a sort of haunted house. But over time she had forged new memories there, and those new memories were good ones. The good had eventually managed to cancel out the bad.

"Draco?" she called, and moved out of the receiving room. He would have sensed a disturbance in the wards and therefore knew she had arrived. Normally he met her almost as soon as she Apparated in.

Rather than wander through the massive manor, she used a spell similar to the Four-Point spell. Instead of her wand pointing North, it pointed to the location of a certain individual. She followed her wand and found Draco in a sitting room, slumped on a sofa with two empty bottles of firewhisky at his feet. His hair was disarrayed and his shirt and trousers were wrinkled. She had never seen him in such a state before.

He was clearly plastered, and when he looked at her, he was icy. He was not a belligerent drunk—more often than not he tended to laugh more when he was pissed. It was an excuse for him to drop his Malfoy mask, which must have been exhausting to maintain. "What do you want?"

"I was worried. Haven't seen you in two days." She lingered in the doorway, unsure if she was welcome. "Do you plan to return to work any time soon?"

"Of course that's all you're worried about. Work, work, work." The bitterness wafting from him took her aback.

"That's not all I'm worried about, but you're in no condition to have a serious talk."

"There will be no serious talk. Everything I wanted to say...I already said it when I was in hospital."

So this was about her attraction to Lucius. Damn it, why couldn't Draco have dropped her into the Just Friends category? She didn't want to lose him, but she also had to follow her heart. If following her heart led her to Lucius, then she would probably lose Draco. Her chest twisted until it was nearly hard to breathe. This was a twisting of grief, she realized.

"Fine," she said. "If Harry asks where you are I will tell him you're ill."

"Don't do me any favors, Granger."

She cringed. He hadn't called her _Granger_ in seven years, and only then when he was angry with her.


	9. Speak No Evil

_Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters._

_I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review or put this story on alert. I am truly honored._

Chapter Nine

Speak No Evil

After her painful encounter with Draco, Hermione called forth her otter patronus, Disillusioned it, and sent it to check on Ingrid Genue. It would report back with Miss Genue's whereabouts and inform her if there was trouble.

Last evening Hermione secretly bespelled Ingrid's house. If there was a disturbance—such as someone attempting to kidnap her—Hermione would be alerted. She had even watched Ingrid's residence in person for a few hours but was eventually forced to leave. She wouldn't have managed any sleep at all if she stayed on.

The patronus returned, and she was notified that Miss Genue was still at home and that everything was peaceful. Miss Genue did not leave her home much because she was her ailing father's constant caretaker.

"Have you thought about assigning an Auror to Miss Genue?" she asked, the instant she entered Harry's office.

Harry grinned rather mischievously. "I already have. He's been watching her all morning."

Technically Harry, as head of the Auror division, wielded less power than Shacklebolt, but in reality Harry was far more powerful than the minister. He was the Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World. He was beloved, and practically worshiped, by the public.

When Shacklebolt learned Harry defied a direct order, there would be a backlash from Shacklebolt himself (most likely a nasty confrontation), but there was little Shacklebolt could actually do. If the minister retaliated he would commit political suicide. The only reason Harry hesitated to defy Shacklebolt in the first place was to avoid the nasty confrontation that would ensue - not because he feared for his position in the Ministry.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, allowing her relief to show. "If you need me I'll be in cold cases."

This seemed the logical place to start, since she would soon collect Blackburn's file. She would learn more from it than back issues of the _Daily Prophet._

An hour later, and Hermione had sifted through a mountain of files with no success. The files were sorted alphabetically, which made searching for particular details of a murder - such as cause of death, age of victim, appearance of victim, etc. - impossible.

If her situation had been ideal, she would have utilized a spell that searched for specific keywords, and any file containing those words would be pulled from the stacks. The problem was, the wards prevented her from using magic on the files, not even a simple _Accio_. This was a security measure to ensure no one could tamper with them.

The only people who could use magic on the files were those who worked in the department, and the only person who worked in the department was an elderly gentleman. Hermione had never met him before, as he had replaced a witch called Violet a couple of months ago. Violet was extremely helpful, perhaps because she grew lonely lingering about the file room alone. Aurors rarely visited the department unless new evidence was found pertaining to a cold case.

But this elderly gentleman, Mr. Butterfield, was uncooperative. He merely grunted and shook his head when she asked him to perform the keyword spell. Ever persistent, Hermione repeated her request twice more, with the same result.

A few seconds after his last refusal, he sprawled in a chair and promptly began to snore. Frustrated, Hermione continued to sift through the files.

Since witches and wizards aged differently than Muggles, it was difficult to tell how old an individual was, but Mr. Butterfield was obviously ancient. He had a landscape of crags and wrinkles, and loose jowls reminiscent of a bulldog. Those jowls jiggled each time he released one of his piggish snores - at least until the snoring stopped altogether.

Initially Hermione didn't notice because she was so distracted by her task. Eventually, though, she became aware that the room was strangely quiet. She ventured down the narrow aisles between the stacks of files - and they were stacked incredibly high, some were more than twenty feet tall - and the old man popped into view.

His chest wasn't moving. He was perfectly still and perfectly silent. She feared his heart had stopped while he napped.

"Mr. Butterfield," she said, as she neared.

He didn't move.

"Mr. Butterfield," she said with more volume, and reached out a hand to shake him, hoping he would awaken and that he wasn't _really_ dead-

"What?" he snapped.

She jumped at the unexpected retort. "I was concerned."

"Thought I was dead, did you? The wife wakes me almost every night thinking the same. She's always disappointed when she realizes I'm still alive."

"Sir, if you could only perform the simple spell I requested-"

"I might look senile, but I have my wits. I remember telling you before that I wouldn't." He waved an arm to say _bug off_, and shuffled by her.

"But why?" Hermione asked, and caught up with him. It was simple to do since he couldn't walk with much speed.

"I don't need a reason why. This is _my_ department. _I_ am lord and master here."

She deduced he probably wasn't lord and master anywhere else, especially at home. Maybe his wife was the dominating force in the relationship. This could explain why he was so territorial of the one place where he had control.

"How about a bargain then?" she asked. "Surely there's something I could acquire for you that would help you change your mind."

"I have everything I need."

"But everyone wants something…"

"I'm 142 years old. I've seen everything and done everything. If you'll excuse me." He pushed open a door. Hermione meant to follow until she noticed he had gone into the loo.

She was frustrated with his antics but couldn't muster any anger. He was too much of a character. _Later, Old Man_, she thought. One way or another she would figure out how to convince him to cast that spell. Otherwise it might literally take her months to find the information she sought.

A check of the time revealed it was 9:45. She was due to meet Dean at the Leaky Cauldron in fifteen minutes.

xOxOxOx

A wizard named Tom was the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron for decades, but after the war he retired and Hannah Longbottom (née Abbott), became the landlady. She and her husband, Neville, lived above the pub.

Hannah had not changed much of anything about the establishment, though the menu had improved. She could cook the best shepherd's pie Hermione ever tasted, and her bangers and mash were equally delicious.

"Hello, Hermione," said Hannah. She was behind the bar, polishing the counter with a spell. "Dean has already arrived. I won't ask why you're meeting him."

"It's Auror business," said Hermione. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" She trusted Hannah. Hannah was an Auror's wife, and Aurors and their families lived by a code. They took care of their own.

"I won't mention it. There's always cloak and dagger with you Aurors…and some secrets I would rather not know."

Hermione smiled, though Hannah's words puzzled her, and climbed up the stairs. She paused when she reached room 105 and rapped with her knuckles. After a muffled, "Come in," she complied.

One moment she had stepped into the room, the next she was on the floor. A tremendous pressure squeezed at her head, throat, and hands. She couldn't take in air. Her fingers curled into claws, and her skull ricocheted with pain. Nearly as soon as the sensation appeared, it faded. She made a grab for her wand, only for it to fly from her holster and into the grasp of the man hovering over her.

He wasn't Dean. He was Kent Blackburn.

The wizard was much larger than photographs led Hermione to believe. He was tall and broad and in excellent physical shape. His olive toned skin appeared flawless, but of course he had covered his pock scars with a glamour. The glamour was undetectable; even her trained eye couldn't tell he was wearing one. It made sense that he would be an expert at casting them considering his deep-rooted need to hide his imperfections.

"I apologize for your discomfort, but it was unavoidable." He offered a hand to help her up, but she ignored it.

Cautiously, she rose. He wasn't pointing his wand at her yet, but it rested at his side. Quickly she took in the room. There was a fireplace, an assortment of Victorian style furniture, and windows covered in thick drapes. Dean was no where to be found.

"What have you done with Dean?"

"Please, have a seat. Our meeting will not be pleasant, but we should try to make the best of it." He smiled then, and it was a charming smile.

If she hadn't known the truth about him she would have found him attractive. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He didn't seem like a serial killer, but that wasn't abnormal. How many Muggles, upon finding out their neighbor was arrested for multiple murders, had said, "But he seemed so nice. He was the perfect neighbor. Never had a single problem with him..."

Blackburn strode to a table flanked by two wooden chairs. He pulled out one of the chairs and motioned for her to sit.

_He means to be civil and well-mannered, even under these insane circumstances,_ she thought.

Hermione vacillated but decided to appear cooperative. She acquiesced, and Blackburn pushed in her chair. Then he settled opposite, smoothing his robe as he did so, and offered another charming smile.

"Where is Dean?" she asked. Panic, ire, and fear warred in her, but she did her best to ignore them. If she allowed her self-control to slip she might not make it out of the room alive. Nor would she discover the things she needed to know.

She had been disarmed, but her dagger was in her right boot. Knowing it was there, that she had some means of defense even though it paled in comparison to a wand, helped her feel a bit safer. But not by much.

"You will not find Mr. Thomas," he said. "That I can guarantee."

"Is he dead?"

"I would rather not say. It will cause you more anguish if your imagination is allowed to run free. The fear of the unknown is terrifying, don't you think? You will ask yourself, Is he alive? Is he dead? Is he in unspeakable agony?" He waved his wand - Hermione nearly flinched - and two steaming cups of espresso sailed to the table. One landed before her, but she had no intention of drinking anything Blackburn offered. "He had to be punished for copying my file."

Blackburn had discovered Dean copied the file, but how?

"And how have you punished me?" she asked.

"You will learn how the spell I cast upon you functions very shortly. Please, drink. I understand you're reluctant, but it is rather rude to-"

"_I'm_ rude?" she asked, her temper on the verge of breaking. "You might pretend to be a chivalrous and charming gentleman, Mr. Blackburn, but I know what you really are. Beneath your façade lurks a killer who is such a coward he can't even bring himself to touch the women he truly wants. A pathetic peeping Tom who steals knickers-"

"Enough!" Blackburn exploded, and slammed his fists against the table. His eye ticked, and she watched, oddly fascinated, as he pulled himself together. Yes, there were deep reservoirs of rage beneath the dashing exterior. "I apologize for my outburst. The fact that I can't kill you is terribly frustrating…Which leads me to the reason I wished to speak with you.

"I know your reputation. Your arrest rate is higher than any Auror in the division, and you are rumored to doggedly pursue your quarries. Therefore you will doggedly pursue me. I must confess I am interested to know if you are a worthy opponent. Our little game should be intriguing, but it will not be easy for you. I have stacked the deck in my favor...hence the spell I cast upon you. And there is one more item I wish to share."

"Which is?" she asked.

"As I said before I can not kill you, but I can make you suffer. Consider this carefully before participating in our little game. I will not hesitate to act if you interfere with my work. As I'm sure you've guessed, I am not yet done."

"Your _work_?" she asked. "Watching two people shag each other to death is not a noble pursuit."

Blackburn swallowed the remainder of his coffee and delicately set the cup down. "I can guess by your expression that you will not exercise caution in this matter. In that case the game is afoot. Farewell, Miss Granger."

He gave a small bow and Disapparated with the subtlest of pops.

Her wand had been left behind. She snatched it from the table as she was bombarded with questions.

_What happened to Dean?_

_Blackburn claimed he couldn't kill her. Why?_

_What spell had he struck her with?_

_How did he know Dean copied the file?_

But there was no time to dissect these questions. Panic gnawed at her as she rushed from room 105 and down the stairs. Hannah was busy polishing glasses and whistling a tune Hermione didn't recognize.

"How did you know Dean had arrived?" she asked.

"He walked right by me and up the stairs a few minutes before you showed up."

It was possible the "Dean" Hannah saw was Blackburn under a glamour. "Did he say anything?"

"He nodded hello, but he didn't speak. He seemed in a hurry. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Dean wasn't in the room." She shrugged as if it was of no importance and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron. It was difficult not to run as fast as her legs could take her.

xOxOxOx

_This is my fault_, Hermione thought, and leaned against the wall. Her knees wanted to become rubber.

She'd hoped she would find Dean in his office or at home or another location, but it wasn't to be. Dean was truly missing.

Dean could be bleeding to death right this minute. He could be screaming for help...No one but her and Blackburn knew what had happened to him.

When she asked his colleagues in Records, they claimed he hadn't made it to work. And his wife, Padma, claimed he was at work when Hermione firecalled. So Blackburn must have grabbed him after he left home and before he arrived at Ministry headquarters.

Firecalling Padma had sounded the alarm; Padma now knew her husband was missing. It wasn't like him to vanish without a word. Padma cast a spell to track Dean through his wand, which led her to Diagon Alley. She found the wand abandoned in the middle of the street. This suggested foul play, as no witch or wizard willingly abandoned their wands. From there she immediately Apparated to the Auror division to seek Harry's aid.

At which point Hermione, since she had "discovered" Dean was missing, was pulled into the fold to help organize a search party. Her guilt burned as she watched a weeping Padma. She had to tell them what she knew. She had to tell them it was her fault.

"Harry, there's something I have to confess." Her tone must have sounded horrible, because he appraised her worriedly. Padma, who was so frantic about her husband she hadn't even fixed her hair (and that was really saying something where Padma was concerned), had a suspicious expression.

Hermione's guilt tripled at that expression. Padma would blame her, which was only right. It was Hermione who convinced Dean to risk his job in order to copy the file. It was Hermione who put his life in danger. If he was dead that was Hermione's fault as well.

She swallowed, though there was no moisture in her mouth. "I asked Dean to copy Kent Blackburn's file. Blackburn somehow found out—he must have spies in Records, or perhaps he somehow managed to bespell his file to alert him if it was tampered with...I was supposed to meet Dean this morning to collect the file, but Dean wasn't there. Blackburn was. Blackburn has done something with him, but I don't know what..."

Silence. After a few beats, she gathered her courage to look at Harry and Padma. Each stared at her expectantly. "You wanted to say something?" asked Harry.

Had they not heard her? She repeated herself, and when she was through Harry said, "Are you okay? You've gone pale."

"You didn't hear me?" she asked.

"Heard what? You said you had something to confess, but you haven't confessed anything."

What kind of spell had Blackburn afflicted her with? This bizarre reaction must be the result of the spell. And because she had no idea what the spell was, she had no idea how to make them hear her.

"It's about Blackburn. He's the killer. I know for sure now," she said.

"No offense, Hermione, but my husband is missing. We don't have time for your shenanigans," said Padma.

"Neither of you heard me?"

"You haven't said _anything_!" Padma cried, and stifled a sob.

Hermione swiped an extra quill and sheet of parchment from Harry's desk. "Read this," she said, and shoved the parchment at Harry.

Confused as he was, he accepted the paper and examined it. "Why have you handed me blank parchment?"

"Blank?" she asked, and snatched it from him, crinkling the edges with her fingers.

Clearly written were the words _Blackburn kidnapped Dean_. But to Harry the parchment appeared to be blank.

When she was struck with the spell, her head, throat, and hands had been in excruciating pain...her _throat_ and _hands_...

Harry must have divined her epiphany. "You've realized something?"

"I'm unsure. Let me know if the search party finds anything."

Hermione rushed from the office at top speed without waiting for Harry or Padma to reply. She didn't stop running until she reached the public Apparition zone, and a moment after, she appeared in her flat. As she hurried to her memory cache, she pulled the memory of her encounter with Blackburn from her mind. There would not be a void where the memory had once been; the spell would duplicate it, so she could retain the memory.

Once she prepared it for viewing, she watched as Blackburn struck her with the spell, how he smiled and sipped his espresso and spoke of their game. She stored the memory in a vial when done, and the vial went into her pocket beside the crumpled parchment she'd shown to Harry. Then she Shrunk the pensieve basin and it went into her pocket as well.

xOxOxOx

Draco was no longer pissed, unless he could fly incredibly well while drunk. He had probably imbibed a sobering potion.

Hermione called to him, and he hesitated before swooping down, halting when he hovered about ten feet in the air. He had changed into a fresh jumper and trousers, and his hair was styled normally.

"What do you want?" he asked, and so sharply pain stabbed at her.

"Please read this."

"Read what? There's nothing on it." He thrust the parchment back at her. It fell to the perfectly manicured lawn, and she bent to retrieve it.

She had hoped he would see what was truly there. She had hoped that _someone_ would be able to learn the truth about Blackburn. This was the genius of the spell. Blackburn believed he couldn't kill her, so he had silenced her instead.

"There's a memory I would like you to watch," she said.

"I refuse to view any more of Father's memories."

"This has nothing to do with Lucius." A powerful yearning overwhelmed her as she spoke his name. For some reason the thought of being near him inflamed a feeling of safety.

_Lucius is not a warm place to fall_, she scorned, but she couldn't stop herself from feeling it.

"I've been afflicted by an unknown spell. I need your help."

"What's this about then? I'm busy, Granger."

He hadn't heard her. Which meant she wouldn't be able to tell anyone about Blackburn, Dean, _or_ the spell.

"Please, Draco. _Please_ view the memory." She had never pleaded with him for anything.

His iciness thawed by a margin, and he agilely climbed from his broom. "This better be fast. I have a guest."

Hermione assumed the guest was of the female persuasion.

She enlarged the basin and poured in the memory of her encounter with Blackburn. Both plunged their faces into the liquid. She watched yet again as the spell hit, as Blackburn had the gall to offer a hand to help her up...But Draco had disappeared. She pulled her face from the basin.

"What did you see?" she asked.

Draco used a drying spell on himself, but did not use one on her as he normally would. "Just black fog. I saw nothing and heard nothing. What has happened?"

There was no reason to tell him; he wouldn't hear a word. "Never mind. Thank you, Draco."

Just as she was about to Disapparate, a beautiful blonde emerged from the manor. Hermione didn't know the witch, but that wasn't unusual. Draco often dated witches Hermione didn't know. He seemed especially interested in women who had attended Beauxbatons.

If she had any romantic stirrings for Draco she would have been hurt or jealous seeing that witch, but she experienced none of those things. She was vaguely annoyed he was so angry at her for fancying Lucius, when it was so easy for him to fall into the arms of another.

She wanted to heal the rift between them, but he insisted on not discussing the problem. Forcing a conversation would not improve the situation; it would most likely worsen it. Maybe he would wish to talk one day, but not now.

xOxOxOx

Hermione repeated her experiments with Ginny, who also saw a blank parchment, failed to hear her when she mentioned Blackburn, Dean, or the spell, and saw black smoke in the pensieve memory.

How would she be able to stop Blackburn? Even if she found definitive proof he was the killer, no one would be able to see or hear it. Harry, Shacklebolt, the Wizengamot...all would remain ignorant.

Her panic increased each time she went unheard, and in desperation she Apparated to Hogsmeade, stopping strangers and asking them if they could read the parchment. Not one of them could, and they were bewildered when handed what they thought was a blank sheet of paper.

Somehow the spell had distorted their perceptions of reality. Were she and Blackburn the only two people in the world even capable of understanding the truth?

She returned to her flat to research. If she ascertained more about the spell, she might also discover a method of countering it. Hours past as she rifled through every spellbook she owned, but with no success. Whatever the spell was, it was either Blackburn's invention or was so rare it wasn't listed in her spellbooks.

Her vision had slightly blurred from reading for so long, and she was forced to take a break. Crookshanks hopped into her lap, and she stroked his head, fighting against the tears that threatened.

She had to find Dean, _if_ he was still alive, but how? Presumably, Blackburn was the only one who knew where Dean was, and she doubted he would tell her over tea.

By then it was late afternoon and she hadn't eaten yet. Her stomach growled, so she made her way to the kitchen to prepare a meal. A green apple, perched in her fruit bowl beside pears and grapes, reminded her of the young, arrogant Lucius from the first memory she collected.

_He is not a warm place to fall_, that inner voice warned her again.

Despite the warning, she Apparated to Azkaban half an hour later.

She felt as if there was a cord tied between her and Lucius, and the closer she came to the prison, the harder it tugged her toward him. And there was another sensation, like she was dying of thirst and Lucius was a drink of water.

The potency of her feelings might have frightened her, but after the day she'd endured she didn't have the energy or the desire to question her emotions. They simply _were_, and she had decided to flow with them instead of against them.


	10. The Path

Disclaimer—I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters.

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or put this story on alert!_

This chapter is longer than the others...

Chapter Ten

The Path

Hermione greeted Pearl with a nasty look. She would never forget how the grandmotherly guard stood back and watched as one of her charges was brutalized.

Pearl pretended not to notice and wordlessly escorted Hermione to Lucius's cell. Before opening the door, however, she spoke. "What business do you have with Mr. Malfoy?"

"That is none of your concern." Now that only a door separated Hermione from Lucius, her eagerness was close to overflowing. She lacked the patience to verbally spar with the guard.

"I should caution you," said Pearl, and the reek of onions gusted into Hermione's nose. She wanted to step back but did not, since it would be perceived as a weakness. "The truth has a way of coming out. Remember that. You have time to change your mind about this."

"Change my mind about what?"

But Hermione understood. Pearl had figured out she was interested in Lucius, and not merely as a suspect or a research subject. She wondered how many others were also aware of it. Maybe Pearl had told, or maybe she had kept it to herself. Either way, Hermione would find out in time.

The guard disregarded the query – perhaps because she realized Hermione knew exactly what she was talking about - and pressed a palm to the door. Light flashed, and she vanished inside. A tick elapsed, and Pearl reemerged, beckoning for Hermione to enter. Hermione did, but had to force her legs to maintain a casual pace. The door shut, and she and Lucius were alone.

Hermione waited for smugness to mold his features, but he simply peered at her. He seemed to be saying, _I know why you've come, but I won't mention it aloud. _Or maybe she was no longer objective enough to read him.

He wore a black jumper and trousers, the colors of which offset his platinum hair and creamy skin. As handsome as his face was, her gaze swept to the scar on his neck. Oddly enough, she regarded it as one of his sexiest traits.

She erected a series of privacy wards, which elicited one of his trademark brow raisings. Pearl might attempt to spy on them now that she was suspicious.

Typically Hermione Transfigured a chair, but today she sat beside him on the mattress. They weren't close enough for their sides to brush or to feel his body heat, but she was very aware of their proximity. She had an impulse to reach out, to caress him…and she yearned to be held, if only for a minute. It had been too long since a man held her.

"Were you harmed when you were returned to Azkaban? After I stopped the beating at Ministry headquarters?" she asked.

"No, I was not."

"Good. Tell me if you're ever harmed again."

"I can handle my own affairs," he said, and his tone brooked no argument.

A bit irked by his stubbornness, she extracted the crinkled parchment from her coat and showed it to him. "Can you tell me what this says?"

He glanced at it with a mixture of interest and confusion. She was pleased he was not bothering to maintain his Malfoy mask. Perhaps an intimacy was burgeoning between them – Draco usually abandoned his mask when he and Hermione weren't in public.

"Shacklebolt kidnapped Dean," Lucius purred. How could he make such a startling sentence sound so alluring?

Hermione only faintly noted this because she was shocked he was able to read the parchment. Until then, she had never felt so alone in the world…if she could have one ally, one confidant, one person who could _hear_ her…

She didn't understand how this could be, but she was grateful for it. Her relief was so acute she literally had to stop herself from pouncing into his arms. Now that he could hear her, now that he could view the evidence, there was no way she wouldn't confide in him. He was a powerful and clever wizard. He could help her.

_Lucius Malfoy is no knight in shining armor_, said that inner voice. She internally growled at it, and the voice said no more.

"I have a memory to show you, if you would like to watch. It will explain everything."

Hermione enlarged the pensieve basin and filled it with her memory. Rather than submerge again, she urged Lucius to brave it by himself.

Moments dragged as he viewed her confrontation with Blackburn. She took the opportunity to scrutinize his cell without his perceptive eye upon her. Like before there were books and parchments and rolled canvases on his desk. Her book rested amongst them, and she plucked it up.

The pages were worn as if he'd handled it a great deal, and passages were underlined. She flipped through, scanning the passages that had interested him-

Only to glance up and see he had withdrawn from the pensieve. Feeling as if she'd stepped out of bounds, she hastily set the book down. "I was curious. You know that's one of my dominant traits - you've used it to your advantage in the past."

His mien was stony, and she feared it was because she had inspected the book. She lifted her head, waiting for him to make a scathing comment and prepared to defend herself. No matter how drawn to him she was, she would not allow him to disrespect her.

"There are things I need to know before I can offer the answers you seek," he said calmly.

Perhaps his stoniness wasn't because of her snooping. Her muscles relaxed. She flicked her wand, drying his cheeks and hair, and sat beside him on the mattress once more. "What do you need to know?"

"How has the spell effected you?"

"When I mention Blackburn, Dean, or the spell, no one hears me. The same holds true when I write anything about them, and even my memories can't be seen by others. Until you, anyway. The spell targeted my head, hands, and throat when it hit me - the areas of my body that aren't allowed to betray the information I hold."

"He performed the spell nonverbally. It would have helped to hear the incantation, but I believe I might know what the spell does."

Hermione had leaned forward, partly because he seemed to have a gravitational field, and partly because she was so intrigued. She scooted back again when she noticed.

"It alters the perceptions of those around you, but only so their perceptions will remain fixed," he said. "Therefore, those who think Blackburn is an innocent man will continue to believe it. And those who know better will hear you because their perceptions are already in agreement with yours."

This explained why Lucius could hear her, but it didn't explain why Draco couldn't. He was aware Blackburn was a suspect. Had he not believed her? Or had he reserved judgment until there was more evidence?

"You're the latter, then," she said. "What do you have on Blackburn?"

"I've dealt with Wizengamot members frequently over the years…and I've never met one who _wasn't_ corrupt. Blackburn, of course, is an extreme example of this."

Which was really his way of answering without actually telling her anything.

"Do you know the name of the spell?"

Lucius shook his head but looked thoughtful. "I have never heard of such a spell. But I am certain if you utilize the library at Malfoy Manor, you will be able to find it."

Hermione's expression was neutral, but Lucius detected something regardless. "Are you and my son quarreling?"

She didn't want to lie, but if she told him the truth she would be forced to reveal what had caused the rift. Confessing that she and Draco were quarreling because of her attraction to Lucius would be rather embarrassing. "I would prefer not discuss him."

"Fair enough," said Lucius. "Have you viewed my latest memory?"

Her head came alive with the horrible images and sounds that had been permanently branded there. "It was difficult to watch."

"I assumed you would be somewhat inured to torture, considering how many similar memories you've viewed."

Was he fishing for a compliment? An admission that the memory had affected her more intensely than the others because she harbored feelings for him?

"Torture is never an easy thing to watch." Changing the subject would be a smart move. She remembered the gift she'd brought and pulled it from her pocket, returning it to its former size. It was the green apple from her fruit bowl. "Do you still like them? I recalled you eating one in the first memory, when you were a cocky teenager."

The food in Azkaban was edible, but to call it delectable would be a stretch. She wondered if he paid the guards to bring him other foods, or if he had to eat the slop the prison provided.

He curled his fingers around the apple. If he was anyone other than Lucius Malfoy she would have thought he was touched by the gesture. "Yes, thank you."

The silence which followed wasn't precisely awkward, but it was close. Her instinct was to fill the lull with conversation. She had questions about his memories but decided against poking at those wounds to feel more at ease. Did he want to be asked about them? Now that she considered him as more of a (friend? lover?) than a research subject, she was unsure how to behave.

"There are questions perched on your tongue. You should ask them," he said. He propped his back against the wall and dropped his bound hands into his lap. His posture wasn't as stiff as it might have been if anyone else was present. Draco often relaxed his guard around her in the same fashion, but only when they were alone. It showed…trust? Familiarity?

"How did the Dark Lord find out about Claudia?" she asked.

"I don't know, though I suspect it was through Legilimens."

"How did you bear it? I've seen witches and wizards fall into madness after less torture than you endured. You're a stubborn man, but there was something else grounding you, wasn't there?"

He didn't respond for some time. Sensing he didn't wish to be eyed, she politely turned her head. Finally he broke the stillness that had befallen, and his voice was low, barely above a whisper. "I decided to focus on one objective, and one objective only. And that was ensuring that Claudia escaped. I knew the bolts wouldn't hold."

Claudia could not have escaped if he'd gone mental - to achieve his objective he had to maintain his sanity. And he saw that the bolts securing the chains to the wall were loose, when his torturer did not.

"I won't bother to ask how the memory ends," she said. "I doubt you will tell me."

There was a movement, and she saw Lucius's hand gliding toward hers. It seemed to happen in slow-motion, and he seemed to be purposely traveling at a snail's pace to give her plenty of warning.

His fingers were a hair's breadth from her own when she slid her hand away. She'd considered touching him several times during the visit, but when the reality presented itself she shirked actual contact. One half of her was irate she hadn't allowed his touch, but the other was relieved. She was not yet ready to take whatever they had to a new level; she was barely handling the status quo as it was.

If he was offended by the slight he didn't make it apparent. He dropped his bound hands into his lap again. Eventually he picked up the apple, which he'd set on the mattress beside him, but he didn't take a single bite.

"When will you eat it?" she asked.

"I plan to wait until the anticipation is almost painful."

"Why?"

"Because the anticipation will make the experience all the sweeter."

Suddenly she wondered if he was not only speaking of the apple. Was he also speaking of her? Was he telling her he could wait to be allowed to touch her, because the anticipation would make the experience all the sweeter?

Or was she reading too much into his words?

She cast a preservation spell on the apple so it wouldn't spoil. "Now you can wait for as long as you need."

More silence, and it was even more awkward than before, at least for her.

Her thoughts ultimately began revolving around the spell. She had a general idea of how it functioned. Lucius's theory made logical sense, and with more research she would be able to prove or disprove it.

Instead of altering perceptions, the spell made it impossible for those perceptions to change - but only if _she_ was the one attempting to change them? Lucius could hear her, but he wasn't a credible witness; most wouldn't believe him because of his reputation. If she could locate an ally that was credible...but then what? Have that individual explain the situation to Harry? Would the spell prevent another party from sharing her secret? She needed more data before she could reach a conclusion.

Which brought her to her next question. She turned to Lucius and caught him staring at her. If she was still a school girl, she might have blushed and dropped her gaze. But she was no longer so innocent, and her first impulse was to act on the sexual tension building between them.

"Why do you think Blackburn didn't kill me?" she asked. The topic effectively quelled her lust for the time being. "It would make things easier for him if he could. I'm a loose end."

And she was stupid enough to waltz right into room 105 without taking a single precaution. If that spell had been an _Avada Kedavra _she wouldn't be breathing.

"He's interested in how worthy an opponent you will be - he enjoys playing games. But from a practical perspective, I believe he didn't kill you because he has a political mindset. Imagine what would happen if you were murdered. Mr. Potter would work tirelessly to find the culprit, and he is the most powerful political force in the Ministry. He would be given inexhaustible resources, and as obstinate as he is, he wouldn't stop until he learned your killer's identity. The situation would be the same if you went missing like Mr. Thomas."

"That's the reason I'm still alive? Because of politics and my friendship with Harry?"

"You were fortunate to align yourself with Mr. Potter at such a young age. He is your friend, but he is also useful," said Lucius.

"I refuse to start looking at my friends as political assets or as pawns to perpetuate my own agenda."

He nodded. "Basing relationships on power is always an empty thing, but more often than not it is a wise thing."

Was it truly a wise thing? Lucius was drafted into the Death Eaters because of this ethos. He had even married Narcissa, a wife his parents chose for him, because of it. How much of his life had been twisted by a thirst for power? If his father hadn't thirsted for power, Lucius might not have spent the last decade in Azkaban. And he most likely wouldn't have lost Claudia, the woman he loved. In a perfect world Draco would have been born a half-blood.

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. Draco would blanch if he ever heard that sentiment. He was no longer a bigot, but he was still extremely proud of his pure-blood heritage.

"You need a powerful ally whose perceptions mirror my own," said Lucius. "One who will be able to hear you."

An idea was triggered. "Surely Blackburn has enemies in the Wizengamot."

"Yes," said Lucius. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

It was surreal plotting with Lucius Malfoy like a bona fide Slytherin. And yet, as fantastical as it was, she was not unnerved by this new development. He was accustomed to swimming through shark infested waters and could impart valuable advise.

"Wouldn't Blackburn have thought of this loophole?" she asked.

"This is why he warned you not to interfere with his plans. If he no longer saw you as a threat he wouldn't have bothered."

"He'll be spying on me then. Otherwise he couldn't be sure if I was interfering."

"I suspect he's been spying on you for some time. Probably before he committed the murders. He would have guessed you would be assigned to the case."

She didn't like the notion that Blackburn had spies prying into her affairs. And how had she, who was supposedly a trained Auror, failed to notice she was being watched?

Hermione recalled how Blackburn offered her espresso. Not tea or any other beverage, but her _favorite_ drink. The coffee had been light brown as if diluted with cream. Had he even prepared it how she liked? If Blackburn knew enough about her to remember how she took her espresso, then exactly how much did he know about her?

Fear ratcheted through Hermione, and so profoundly it was difficult to contemplate anything else. _Don't let your reason be conquered by fear_, she cautioned. _Rely on your anger instead. Rage is an effective weapon when properly channeled. _

"He said he would make me suffer," she said.

"Blackburn has a plan at his fingertips, waiting to be put into motion the instant you disobey him."

"But I have to stop him from killing more people, and I need to find Dean."

"No matter which direction you move there will be serious repercussions."

"There is no question of which direction I should move. I have to stop him."

"Even if your life is at stake?" Lucius asked. "At this time Blackburn believes it is the wiser course to keep you alive. But if you incense him enough, and interfere enough, he might decide to take the risk and kill you."

"The easiest thing would be to kill _him_," she said, somewhat surprised she had actually thought it, much less voiced it aloud.

If Blackburn was dead, he wouldn't be able to kill Ingrid Genue or anyone else, including Hermione. And chances were, the infuriating spell would break when he died. But what about Dean? If Blackburn was dead she might never learn what had become of him.

She should have been horrified. The only reason she decided _not_ to consider killing Blackburn was because of Dean. But she wasn't horrified.

Sometimes ruthlessness was a necessity. If she ever had to choose between her life or Blackburn's life, she would choose her own every time. She would react the same way if he ever threatened the life of someone she loved.

"I hope he doesn't shove my back against the wall any further," she said. "If he does...I might be forced to do something I'd rather not do."

"I believe he has misjudged how dangerous you really are," said Lucius. He looked at her then, and he seemed to approve of how her mind worked.

An epiphany exploded in her mind. One of the reasons she was drawn to Lucius was because they were kindred spirits. How had she managed to have more in common with an ex-Death Eater than her friends? Harry and Ginny would never have considered killing Blackburn, not unless it was a matter of self-defense. They would plan to stop him legally, and in a fashion they judged morally correct. But Hermione had gone straight for the jugular.

_Morals are in the eye of the beholder_, she mused. _What one man considers evil, another deems necessary. _

Could she kill someone in cold blood, even if it was a preemptive strike?

Deciding what was right and what was wrong had once been an easy exercise. Once she saw the world as black and white; the Order of the Phoenix was Light, and the Death Eaters were Dark. One side was wholly good, one side was wholly evil. But now it was muddled and confusing, and she couldn't tell what side she was on. Was she both Light and Dark like Lucius? For there was good in him, of that she was sure.

Hermione had to leave this cell...this prison. She needed to reflect on what she had learned about herself. She rose, and her demeanor must have betrayed her intention to leave.

"I offer the rest of my memory, if you would like to view it," he said. His bearing was more formal than it had been since she arrived. His posture was too erect, and his mask had been recalled. Maybe he sensed her tension and considered it a reflection upon him.

She pressed closer and collected the memory. While it swirled into the vial, she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, or sweep a thumb across the scar on his neck. But she denied herself the pleasure.

Her undertaking complete, she went to the door and knocked. She looked over her shoulder as the door swung open, and saw Lucius perched on the edge of his bed, contemplating the green apple in his hand.

"Good-bye," she said.

He nodded, and she moved into the corridor, nearly slamming into Pearl as she did so.

"This is the last time I will bend the rules for you," said the guard. "You are not on official business, which means you are a regular visitor. Visiting hours are on Saturday afternoon."

"How do you know I'm not on official business?" Hermione asked. Only being able to visit Lucius for an hour on Saturdays wouldn't work. Not at all. She'd only been without his company for a few seconds and already felt an ache in her chest.

"Should I contact Minister Shacklebolt and ask him?"

Hermione was alarmed by the slyness in Pearl's tone. Should Hermione consider her a threat? It certainly seemed as though Pearl had threatened her.

Merlin, she had more enemies than friends. Draco was no longer speaking to her. Shacklebolt had done everything in his power to impede her investigation. Blackburn, of course, loomed as the most dangerous foe. And now this grandmotherly guard...

"You said secrets have a way of coming to light," said Hermione. "The same holds true for your own."

Pearl looked frightened before she managed to conceal it. Obviously she had secrets as well. Maybe it would be prudent to learn what they were.

xOxOxOx

"You're distracted," said Ginny. "Care to discuss what you're mulling over? Is it Draco?"

Hermione had Apparated to Grimmauld Place after her visit with Lucius. There were a vast number of books in the Black library, and Hermione spent several hours reading through them. Nonetheless, she didn't find a single spell that bore any resemblance to the one she suffered from. She was beginning to speculate that the spell was Blackburn's invention. If that was so, she would never learn how to counter it.

As the evening wore on, Ginny insisted Hermione stay for dinner. The children were at Molly's and Harry was at work, which left the witches to their own devices. For a while they discussed Dean's disappearance, but since no new clues had been uncovered there wasn't much to say on the subject.

During dinner Hermione listened to her friend talk about her children, her family life, and other prosaic aspects of her existence, and Hermione felt like there was an invisible wall between them. She had no children to discuss, nor did she have a marriage to complain about. But more than that, the gulf was caused by her own thought processes. She just didn't _think_ like a normal person any more, and she couldn't exactly discuss all the things in her head, as they were unsuitable for dinner conversation. Not to mention the fact that the spell prevented Ginny from hearing most of it.

"I am worried about my partnership with Draco," Hermione admitted, though she hadn't been pondering him at that particular instant.

"He'll come around. His pride is hurt, but he'll eventually realize he wants you in his life. Even if you are in a flirtation with his father." She made a face when she mentioned Lucius and _flirtation_ in the same sentence. Her brow furrowed, and worry practically radiated from her. "Do you mean to have a relationship with Lucius?"

Ginny wouldn't like the truth, but Hermione wouldn't lie. If she did decide to have a relationship with Lucius (depending, of course, on whether he reciprocated) she wouldn't hide it from her friends. They might as well grow accustomed to the idea of it now. "I'm considering it," she said.

"Why him?"

"Because I feel happy when I'm with him. And he's brilliant. And there's this _spark_…"

Though her feelings for Lucius were nascent, she knew without question that she could fall in love with him if she allowed herself to. That raw energy was there, that chemistry, that spark that could become a conflagration if nurtured.

Ginny frowned. "It sounds like you're taken with him."

Hermione had nothing to say to that. She was having a difficult time admitting it to herself, much less to someone else.

"Merlin, Hermione. Just because you're attracted doesn't mean you should act on it. He's Lucius Malfoy! He's sick and twisted-"

"You don't know him like I do. You have _no idea_ what he's been through, so don't speak ill of him." Her voice was fierce, as her protective instincts had shot to the fore.

Ginny gaped. "But he's a murderer!"

"So is Harry."

"You can't possibly compare the two-"

"Can't I? Both of them were forced to commit acts they wouldn't normally have committed. Lucius had no choice but to become a Death Eater. The Dark Lord threatened the lives of his family members to control him. If his father, Abraxas, hadn't supported the Dark Lord, Lucius would never have joined. It was Abraxas who brought Voldemort's evil into the Malfoy family."

"He could have joined the Light. He could have asked Dumbledore for help."

"Yes, that's true. But what if he was caught? The Dark Lord would not kill him, you see. He would kill Draco, or Narcissa, or torture Lucius for days on end...I think I understand Lucius's reasons for not turning to the Light, but I can't be sure until I view his latest memory." She touched the vial in her pocket, stroking the cool glass with her fingertips.

Ginny seemed to be mulling over Hermione's words, which Hermione took as a good sign. Ginny, unlike Ron and the other Weasleys in general, had the ability to look past her prejudices to see things in a new way. She was the first to accept Draco after he and Hermione became partners.

"If you trust me, you should also trust my decision making abilities," said Hermione.

"That's part of the problem." This was the tone Ginny used when about to impart bad news. "You've changed in the last few years. You're so detached toward me and Harry, and you're obsessed with the memories you collect."

"It's research."

"Yes, but it's changed you, and not for the better. I'm only saying this because I worry about you. Don't pursue this relationship with Lucius. I fear you're balanced on a knife edge. One push, and you'll either fall deeper into the world of the memories, or toward your old self."

"You think Lucius will push me toward the Darkness?"

Ginny nodded.

"It's too late-I'm already there. I've been there for years. That doesn't mean I'm a bad person, and I'm offended you think a relationship with Lucius would turn me into one."

But she wasn't so certain of that, was she? Only hours before she couldn't determine what side she was on. Light? Dark? Or both? Or was she simply willing to do anything it took to ensure she and her friends were safe?

"I don't think you're a bad person. But I'm afraid for you…" Ginny sucked in a breath. "Please don't see Lucius anymore. Will you promise me that?"

"I can't promise you that."

Ginny sat back and folded her arms over her chest, her chair creaking from the shifting weight. "So you've already decided. Draco was right."

"You've talked to Draco about this?"

This surprised Hermione. He was not the type of man to have heart-to-hearts, as shown by his refusal to talk about their problems. Why had he gone to Ginny? And what had he told her?

"We're both concerned. Whether you like it or not we love you and mean to look after you. Do you know what will happen once it becomes public knowledge you're dating Lucius Malfoy? The media frenzy alone - and have you considered what this will do to your career? What will Shacklebolt do when he finds out you're shagging an ex-Death Eater, especially one as notorious and despised as Lucius Malfoy?"

"My personal life and my work life are two separate arenas. I would hope Shacklebolt would see that." But even as Hermione said this, she conceded that Ginny had a point. Shacklebolt and her fellow Aurors would have a serious problem with Hermione shagging Lucius. There would be consequences, and they wouldn't be pretty. "I have to go. The library at Hogwarts might have the answers I'm searching for."

Ginny stood up much too quickly, and her chair wobbled. "I realize we've grown apart, but I still want you in my life. I want the _old_ Hermione back."

Hermione's lips became a thin, pale line. "That's impossible. She's dead."

xOxOxOx

"Thank you for allowing me to visit so late in the evening," said Hermione.

Minerva McGonagall smiled and dropped a sugar lump into her tea. "It is only eight o'clock, Dear. I am not so old that I feel compelled to sleep the instant the sun sets."

They were in Minerva's office at Hogwarts, which had at one time been Dumbledore's office. Minerva redecorated when she became Headmistress; Dumbledore's decorating style bore an eccentricity that didn't match the witch's more conservative sensibilities.

The portraits were still on the walls, however. Dumbledore's frame was empty—apparently he had a habit of visiting the other portraits throughout the castle on a regular basis.

Severus Snape's portrait was not empty. Even though he was a construct of paint and canvas, Hermione sensed his dark gaze drilling into her.

"You're much different," said Minerva. "I would say _hardened_."

Hermione shrugged. "I've been an Auror for years."

"The war had a hand in it as well. When I think about how young you children were…"

"I try not to think of it at all."

Yet, unbidden, images flickered. The bodies of Tonks and Fred and Lupin and so many others, lined on the castle floor. Funeral after funeral after funeral. She had wept an ocean of tears.

"I am curious what it is you wish to speak with me about," said the Headmistress.

"You've heard of Dean Thomas's disappearance?"

Minerva nodded. "Yes, of course."

"I believe I can find him, but I need access to the Hogwarts library to research. I've already examined my own spellbooks and those in the Black library with no success."

"I see no reason why you shouldn't use our library. May I ask what it is you're looking for?"

"Kent Blackburn has cast an unknown spell upon me." Hermione paused, but she could tell by Minerva's expectant air that the witch probably couldn't hear her. Annoyed, Hermione continued regardless. "He is the wizard who killed Morta, Quintus, and Shane. I'm sure you read about their murders in the _Daily Prophet_. He kidnapped Dean and struck me with a spell that prevents others from hearing me when I try to explain the truth."

"Miss Granger? Are you all right? Do you intend to answer my question?" asked Minerva.

Hermione's stomach dropped, as she had hoped Minerva would hear.

_The definition of insanity is repeating the same act over and over with the hope that the result will be different_, she thought.

_But they were different once. With Lucius..._

"I'm fine. I would prefer not discuss it unless I learn anything concrete," said Hermione.

Professor Snape, she noticed, had walked closer and closer, as if he meant to step out of the portrait and into the real world. "Miss Granger," he said. His voice was a seductive rumble, like he channeled thunder through his vocal chords. "When you were struck with this spell, did you feel pain in your head, throat, and hands?"

"Yes! Do you know what the spell is? And how can you hear me?"

"Minerva, might I have a moment alone with Miss Granger?" asked Severus. "If not, I can travel to another portrait and Miss Granger can meet me there."

Minerva glanced at the portrait and back to Hermione. "I could swear you and Severus were communicating, but I didn't hear a word." She shook her head. "Traveling to another portrait won't be necessary. I have tasks to attend to anyhow." She seemed to want to prod for more information, but refrained as she left.

"Your hair is different," said Severus, the second Minerva had gone. "When did you change it?"

Hermione hadn't been expecting a comment on her appearance, and was understandably perplexed. "At the end of eighth year. Why?"

Snape was silent for a prolonged moment. "A mystery I have wondered about for many years has finally been solved."

She snorted. "Because of my hair?"

"You look very different now, as a woman," he said. "Before your hair was the first thing one noticed about you. All those frizzy curls...but now it's darker, and straight." He tapped the bottom of his chin with a pale finger. "There is a rumor you stopped your colleagues from harming Lucius Malfoy. Is the rumor true?"

It never ceased to amaze her how quickly gossip spread in the wizarding world. Even _portraits_ had heard about the rescue. "It's true."

"I presume you did not save him merely because you thought it was the right thing to do."

"What does my hair and Lucius Malfoy have to do with this?" she asked.

"You are now following a path that was divined many years ago. As for it's inevitable conclusion..." he trailed off, and she could have sworn he was fleetingly grief stricken. "There is something you should know, Miss Granger. Your future can not be changed. Some paths are fixed, and one can not veer from them no matter what they do. You are on one such path."

"And where is this path leading me?"

"That I can not tell you."

She sighed. "Of course not. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"You should not waste time with self-pity," he said, and with the causticity he was so infamous for. "You will eventually understand what I am speaking of...As for the curse upon you, I believe I can hear you because I am a portrait and not truly a living entity."

"What is the spell?"

"It is very old magic, which is why you've had difficulty finding it throughout your research. Tell me what you've learned of it so far."

She explained as succinctly as possible. Severus was not a patient man, even as a portrait.

"Your theories are correct," he said. "What you don't know is that the curse spreads. I assume someone has been able to hear you, for you to know as much about the curse as you do. Who was that person?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

"Ah, of course. I should have guessed." He tapped his finger against his chin again. "Now that he has heard you, the curse has infected him as well. He will not be able to tell anyone the truth either."

"So my allies will not be able to inform anyone." She rubbed at her temples, as a headache was growing there. "How do I counter the spell?"

"Only the death of the caster will bring an end to the curse."

"Killing Blackburn is my only option?" she asked, and her headache worsened. It throbbed in sync with her heart beat. "I don't accept that. There has to be something else that can be done..."

"It's clear you won't believe until you have seen the proof in black and white," said Snape, and named the title of a book in the Restricted Section that described the curse.

As she turned to leave, a thought occurred to her. "This path I'm on. Will it have a happy ending?"

There was a lengthy pause, as he seemed to be dithering over whether to reply or not. "No, Miss Granger," he said finally. "It will _not_ have a happy ending."


	11. Intuitive Leaps

Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters.

_Sorry this chapter is brief, but the next one details Lucius's newest memory. If I added them together the chappie would be way too long! Once again, thanks for the reviews and alerts. You guys encourage me when I feel overwhelmed._

_On a side note, this site is seriously glitched right now and I'm not sure if my story alerts are being sent out._

Chapter Eleven  
Intuitive Leaps

There was once a Muggle psychiatrist called James A. Brussel who was asked to profile a serial bomber. Known as "The Mad Bomber" the criminal had planted several bombs in various areas of New York City.

Brussel's report related traits the offender might have. That he was middle-aged, overweight, was a mechanic from Connecticut, and a Roman Catholic were only a few of them. But Brussel also added: when you find him, "chances are he will be wearing a double-breasted suit. Buttoned."

Police finally identified the bomber and confronted him at his place of residence. He was allowed to change out of his pyjamas, and when he reappeared he wore a double-breasted suit. Buttoned.

How did the psychiatrist predict this?

An analysis is about patterns of behavior. If you learn one link of the killer's personality chain you can predict what the other links most likely are, but it isn't an exact science. Part of what makes a good profiler are intuitive leaps, such as how Brussel surmised the bomber would be wearing a double-breasted suit. It defies logic, but once you begin to understand killers, once you begin to explore the Darkness in their minds, it becomes second nature.

Hermione had solved a number of cases in this fashion. It was how she knew Blackburn folded the victims' clothing by hand. It was why she asked Fawn to show her the studio and saw the gravestones of the two dead Kneazles. It was how she knew Blackburn was taunted mercilessly by the beautiful girls when he was young.

It was also why she was now standing on the stoop of one Gareth Gribble.

She didn't have to ring the bell; his wards had informed him she was there. He peered at her. She peered back.

The day was bleak and it had been drizzling for hours. Hermione had erected an umbrella shield to protect her from the downpour. Hovering over her head, it would have been invisible if not for the rain. Drops cascaded down the sides, racing one another to the bottom.

Ever since she'd been afflicted with the damn curse, a heavy burden crushed her. Dean's very life could be in her hands. So was Ingrid Genue's and all the other people Blackburn intended to kill. It was a solitary burden because the curse had silenced her. Except Lucius could share her torment, if he wished. He could hear her.

What if Gareth Gribble couldn't?

_Say it_, she thought. _Don't be a coward. _

"Blackburn is a killer," she blurted, and held in a breath. Hope mushroomed; he did not have the expectant air of those who could not hear her.

Soundlessly, Gareth stepped aside so she could enter his flat. Until then she hadn't seen much of him. He'd only opened the door enough to poke his face out. Now she could see him in his entirety, and she nearly laughed.

He was a small man, not much larger than Professor Flitwick. His beard and mustache were black, peppered with gray. He wore a suit that was the height of elegance in the 1800's. Black and pinstriped, with jacket, vest, and pocket watch, all he needed to complete the ensemble was a top hat and cane.

He was wearing a suit…

"I know what Blackburn is," he said.

Gareth's statement replayed in her memory, as if her mind was testing if it was real or illusion.

_I know what Blackburn is…I know what Blackburn is…_

She hadn't expected him to be able to hear her. Deep down she was afraid he would be as deaf as everyone else.

"Why did he let you live?" she asked.

He smiled, but there was bitterness, and a trace of fear in it. "I can't rightly say."

"Will you tell me your story?"

"How the tables have turned," he said, but it seemed he was speaking more to himself than to her. "A few years before Kent won his seat on the Wizengamot, I was aware he was a rising star in the political world. And yet, it was almost impossible to dig up much of anything about his past." His eyes darted to hers. "I'm sure you've read my articles or you wouldn't be here."

Yes, she had. She'd spent hours in the Archives, reading article after article about Blackburn in back issues of the _Daily Prophet_.

Gareth Gribble had a reputation for being one of the most hard-hitting journalists in the field. He was relentless in his pursuit of the truth, and he was well-known for relating the facts without bias. Unlike Rita Skeeter and others of her ilk, he did not create fabrications and call them news.

Knowing this, Hermione became suspicious when she read the articles he'd written about Blackburn. They were little more than fluff pieces, and there was hardly any information about Blackburn's history. Moreover, he was the _only_ journalist who wrote articles about Blackburn.

This was when she'd had her intuitive leap. She theorized Gareth had discovered quite a bit about Blackburn's history, but Blackburn had silenced the journalist, as she had been silenced. Somehow Blackburn had forced him to write the fluff pieces instead of the truth.

"I've been Obliviated," he said. "I can feel the empty space where the missing memories once were."

Hermione's heart plunged to her toes. He knew nothing. Again Blackburn had outwitted her.

"What _do_ you remember?" she asked.

"I know I spent a great deal of time learning about Blackburn, his childhood in particular. I know some of what I found horrified me…I know he is evil. But as to the particulars, I am at a loss."

"He kidnapped a colleague. He has killed three people and he plans to kill again. There must be something, anything, you can tell me that will help me catch him."

"Blackburn thought he destroyed every shred of evidence I collected. He gloated over it, in fact," said Gareth. "But there was one thing he missed…" He had already whipped his wand, and a torn scrap of parchment soared into the room. It stopped an inch from Hermione's nose. She plucked it from the air.

Scrawled upon the parchment was an address. Could it be...

"This is the address of a manor hidden under the Fidelius Charm," said Gareth. "I don't know why I have the address, why the Secret-Keeper, or someone else, gave it to me. But after I found the address I went there. The manor has gone to seed. I don't think anyone has lived within its walls for many years. I attempted to go inside and look around, but the wards are formidable. I could not enter."

The manor was secluded, hidden from the naked eye because of the charm. Maybe it was a familiar place to Blackburn, a place where he felt comfortable and safe. It could be where he was hiding Dean.

"I must copy this," she said. She shoved the torn parchment into her pocket and left the original for Gareth. "Thank you, Mr. Gribble." Her mind was whirring with what to do next now that she had this information. But as she told Lucius, inquisitiveness was one of her dominant traits. "How did Blackburn silence you?"

"A curse. I can't reveal what I know to anyone who doesn't already see what Blackburn truly is."

Blackburn had repeated history when he used the curse on her. But why leave the journalist alive? He was a liability. Was it because Gareth was respected in his field and controlling the media was essential for any politician?

"How did he coerce you to write the fluff pieces?"

"My son. He said he would kill him." Gareth shook his head. "But my son is dead now – he was killed in a freak brooming accident. If it wasn't for the curse I would have exposed the truth long ago."

This proved that Blackburn would target her loved ones if he needed to. He warned he would make her suffer, and harming her friends would make her suffer more than anything else. If he hurt Harry, or Ginny, or Draco…but no, they were too well connected, too respected. This was why he hadn't killed her, if she was to believe Lucius's postulation.

Lucius, on the other hand, would make a perfect target. There weren't many people who would care if he was taken or killed. Did Blackburn have spies watching her? And if so, did they realize she had feelings for Lucius?

A day had past since her visit with him, and the rage simmering under the surface was steadily growing. The rage was almost overpowering when she imagined him being hurt.

"Be careful," she said. "I don't think I was followed, but if Blackburn learns I was here you would be in danger."

"I've been in danger for some time, Miss Granger. Expose him. Show the world what he really is."

xOxOxOx

Through experimentation she uncovered what the curse would allow her to impart and what it wouldn't. She could speak with others about Dean and his disappearance - but not the truth of what happened to him. Incriminating knowledge about Blackburn would not be heard.

She could even speak of Blackburn himself. She could say something innocent like, _Blackburn has dark hair_ and others would hear her. But she couldn't mention anything that cast him in a bad light and expect her words to register with those around her. They could hear lies about how wonderful a wizard he was, but they wouldn't hear a syllable about his malevolence.

So when she Apparated to Grimmauld Place she couldn't tell Ginny much. "This is important," Hermione said. "I can't tell you why, but I need your ward-cracking skills."

"This will be illegal?" asked Ginny.

"Yes. I would prefer not involve you in this, but I have no one else to turn to. I don't trust anyone else to keep this secret." Nor did she trust anyone else not to be one of Blackburn's spies. There was no telling how many flunkies he was paying to watch Hermione. It seemed paranoid, but it was true. _Anyone_ might be on his payroll.

"I can't tell Harry?"

"I'm sorry to put you in this position Ginny, but I need you."

Ginny searched her face. "You're desperate."

Hermione nodded.

"If I crack the wards will you stay away from Lucius Malfoy?"

Her answer was immediate; no time for reflection was necessary. "If that's your deal then I don't accept. I'll find help elsewhere." That rage simmering under the surface skyrocketed. How dare Ginny try to manipulate her!

"You love him don't you?" Ginny's voice was carefully neutral, but she was clearly disturbed.

_Look at it from her point of view,_ Hermione thought. _Your relationship (or whatever you have) with Lucius is comparable to a Muggle police officer dating Ted Bundy or Ed Gein._

It wasn't really like that, but Ginny hadn't seen his memories; she didn't understand. Hermione's anger diminished.

"Whatever I feel, it's stronger than I've ever felt for any other man. Even-" She quieted before saying, _Even Ron_. "You said I have to follow my heart."

"Yes, I did say that." She sounded as if she regretted it.

Hermione had finally admitted how she felt about Lucius Malfoy aloud. And though it still frightened her, she was also filled with a searing heat. It spread through her, especially when she envisioned their last visit together and the near-touch.

How she had tossed and turned, wondering what would have happened if she hadn't slid her hand away. How would his fingers have felt? And what if he'd leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers?

He had the willpower to stave off tasting the apple because anticipation would make each bite all the sweeter, but she had no such patience. If he'd been within arm's reach at that moment she would have snogged the hell out of him. When she thought of what she craved…it was not a gentle lovemaking. It was passionate, animalistic, raw.

"I know it's happened so fast, and it makes no sense, but I can't stop how I feel," she said.

Somehow she'd turned a corner, and she hadn't noticed until then. Maybe it was because of what his memories revealed about his character, and how he had suffered. Maybe it was the near-touch and what it promised. Maybe it was because he helped her plot like a Slytherin. Or maybe it was because for a brief period, he dropped his Malfoy mask and allowed her to glimpse the real Lucius Malfoy.

There was that ache in her chest again, the ache that flowered whenever she yearned to see him. It was almost like homesickness.

Unbeknownst to her, she had dipped her hand into her pocket to stroke the smooth vial containing his latest memory. She hadn't viewed it yet, but she planned to as soon as possible.

_You've fallen hard_. _You should be cautious_.

Even as she warned herself of this she knew she wouldn't listen. She would rather have him and lose him than never have him at all. In this respect she was still very much a Gryffindor. And wasn't she the one who was always looking for a thrill?

_This is too big of a risk. You could lose your career, and your career is your life. Would you risk your life just to shag Lucius Malfoy?_

There was more to it then that, though. Hermione didn't just want a shag. She wasn't precisely sure what she wanted, but it wasn't only a shag.

"If you help me it will be dangerous," she said. "You can't enter the premises. You'll have to Disapparate as soon as the wards are down."

Hermione should have contacted Harry - she should not enter the manor without back-up - but she wasn't sure if Blackburn had any spies in the Auror division. Blackburn would be alerted Hermione had found the manor if he did, and he would also be alerted she was interfering with his master plan.

He said he would make her suffer if she interfered, and that meant she would be putting her friends in danger. No, she wouldn't chance that. She would search the manor alone, and if she found Dean she would send a patronus to Harry.

"This could save Dean," said Hermione. She was purposely twirling bait in front of Ginny's nose. "But you have to promise to leave after you crack the wards."

Hermione didn't have to use a _Legilimens_ to see Ginny was reluctant to merely crack the wards and Disapparate; she would rather be included in the rescue mission. But she wished to save Dean, and despite Hermione's affection for a mass murderer Ginny still had some semblance of faith in her. Ginny sighed. "I promise to leave. Where are these wards I need to crack?"

"Here," said Hermione, and showed her friend the torn parchment bearing the address.

The witches decided to meet there later, after Ginny acquired a babysitter. Normally Molly would have welcomed the children, but she'd joined a myriad of women's groups and was often busy organizing this or that.

Molly would be free in a few hours and could look after them then. Hermione didn't appreciate having to wait, but she had no other choice. They couldn't exactly bring the children into such a hazardous situation.

xOxOxOx

"You're plotting something," said a familiar drawl.

Hermione might have jolted, but it wasn't unusual for Draco to putter about her flat when she wasn't there. She had returned home to find him eating a sandwich or watching the telly on a number of occasions. He acted as if he owned the place, but it was more amusing than annoying. He was like a brother who often dropped in uninvited.

She hadn't expected to see him. He had been doing his best to avoid her the last several days.

"Aren't I always plotting something?" she asked, with all the nonchalance she could muster. His demeanor was casual enough, which made her deduce he was offering an olive branch. Why else would he have come here? He didn't appear to be angry, and he didn't appear to be in the mood for a heart-to-heart.

Thank Merlin. If they could mend their differences without having A Talk, she would be more than happy to do so. Most women would have insisted on it, but she would only discuss their problems if it was absolutely necessary. Luckily, Draco wasn't the type for that.

"Whatever you're plotting, I want in." He aimed one of his no-nonsense expressions at her. The expression that said, _Just try to wiggle out of this one_.

"It's illegal, and the division can't know what we're doing."

"And how exactly would that be a problem?" He practically gleamed with devilishness.

Hermione smiled. She'd worried he would ask to be assigned to a new partner, that he would cut her out of his life. But it seemed he wanted their relationship to revert to normal - no talk required. That twisting in her gut ceased for the first time since Draco was in hospital.

In the future there would be roadblocks. Draco didn't approve of her associating with his father and that wouldn't change. But for now they could slip back into their regular way of relating to one another, and it felt wonderful. She had missed him, and much more than she'd thought.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"I can't tell you. You'll have to trust me."

His brows pressed together. "You can't or you won't?"

"I can't." _Because of this horrible spell. _She couldn't mention that part, however. He wouldn't hear.

He eyed her, then nodded. "The last few nights I've been trolling local clubs. Places our killer might go to find a male victim to pair with Miss Genue."

This was clever of Draco. Blackburn would hunt in an establishment similar to the Lotus. It was doubtful he would return to the Lotus itself because his cover was blown there.

"Did you discover anything?"

"Not yet," he said. "But I did spot Miss Genue and Michael Corner together. Apparently they've been dating for a couple of weeks."

The fact that Ingrid was dating Michael was of interest because it might provoke Blackburn to kill her ahead of schedule. Blackburn viewed her as a possession, and he would be furious his possession was with another man. It could also mean that Michael might be in danger as well.

A crushing weight fell upon Hermione all over again. Another potential victim had been added to the list.

Blackburn would make his move any second now. The clock was most definitely ticking.

* * *

**A/N—James A. Brussel and his profile of the Mad Bomber are absolutely true. The bomber, George Metesky, injured 15 people with his little devices over a 16 year period. What I find most disturbing about this case is that he would sometimes cut the upholstery in the back of a movie theater seat and slip a bomb inside. It would be just my luck to pick the one seat with the bomb in it!**


	12. Everyone Breaks

Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters.

_Warning for violence. Rated M for a reason._

Chapter Twelve

Hermione paused, her prudence and curiosity battling inside. Lucius's memory swirled and coiled in the vial…a piece of him, given freely.

Draco left a few minutes before. He would meet her at the manor when Ginny was ready.

Now she had time to watch the newest memory. She wanted to view it, and yet she didn't want to view it. The last one had been difficult for her. She couldn't stand watching Lucius harmed. And there was another reason she was afraid to watch.

_Eventually everyone breaks_, the torturer, Cygnus, had said.

This is what Hermione feared seeing most - the end of Claudia's life. She sensed it would not end by the hand of an enemy. Rather, it would end by the hand of the man Claudia loved. If that was so, how had Lucius coped all these years? How had he dealt with the guilt?

He endured torment that would have turned other wizards into drooling idiots, and all so he could save her. But he failed; Claudia was dead.

Who fired the killing spell? The Dark Lord? One of his minions? Or Lucius himself?

Hermione's mother used to say, _Don't look through keyholes if you're afraid what you might see. _Lucius's memory was a giant, dangerous keyhole.

But it was too late to turn back. Hermione had passed a point of no return, not only with his memories but with him personally. Foolishly, she had allowed herself to care for him…dare she say, _love_ him? Was it too soon for love? Perhaps, but her feelings for him were too intense to merely call them attraction or a simple crush.

Steeling herself for what was to come, she poured in the memory and took the plunge.

Back in the torture chamber once again, the younger Lucius Malfoy had a catatonic Claudia slung over one shoulder, and his torturer's wand poised in the other. His face was the bulbous, blackened mess she recalled so vividly. That one image was emblazoned on her mind. It had galvanized her to stop Terry Boot and the others from beating him in the interrogation room.

Behind him, sprawled upon the stone floor, was Cygnus Carrow. Hermione thought he deserved much worse for what he did to Lucius. Being choked to death wasn't a painless way to go, but there were other, more painful methods.

Lucius and Claudia vanished, concealed beneath a Disillusionment. Slightly quivering air was the only sign they were there. Hermione followed them into a dim corridor. Flaming torches flickered from the walls, but they were not bright enough to scare away the darkness.

Sometimes the quivering air disappeared, and she could no longer detect where Lucius was. Then, a moment or two later, she would catch sight of the quivering again.

The corridor was long, and damp like the lower level of Azkaban where Lucius was imprisoned. She didn't recognize where they were, but like Azkaban, this place had a tainted aura. Much suffering and gnashing of teeth had occurred here.

Two of the Dark Lord's minions rounded a corner where the corridor formed a T with another. They chatted amicably; it was a normal day for them. One spoke of his newborn son with the pride any father would show. It only served to reinforce how banal evil usually was. The Dark Lord was an exception to the rule - he was absolutely terrifying - but mostly evil men, upon inspection, seemed to be rather average. They had jobs and families and hobbies as everyone else did. Very few of them were flashy, such as John Gotti. Flashy villains typically only appeared in novels and action films.

Fire struck the two wizards. Reduced to piles of gray ash in less than five seconds, they didn't even have a chance to scream. A breeze gusted, and the ashes spread. It seemed the men had never existed at all.

Lucius cast the spell nonverbally, but it was surprisingly powerful. He had more juice than she'd realized. His magical prowess would have grown in the intervening years.

Hermione glanced left and right when she reached the spot where the corridors formed a T. She spotted the quivering air, stealthily moving to her right, and fell into pace behind Lucius. They traversed a number of corridors without encountering anyone.

It was so silent she became disconcerted. This was the calm before the storm.

Finally a staircase was reached. Lucius ascended, and slower than he moved before. There was dust on the stairs, and he left behind near perfect foot prints. Hermione wanted to Vanish them, but that was ridiculous. She couldn't alter the outcome of this memory, though she wished she could.

A door opened, and she slid through before it closed. Stretching before her was a wide, marbled corridor. Gilded columns flanked either side at equal intervals, and the walls between were adorned with a Japanese style mural of dragons and tigers and cherry blossoms.

Hermione recognized this hall. Once, when she visited Draco at Malfoy Manor, she lost her way and ended up here.

Lucius had been in Malfoy Manor the entire time! It was horrifying to think such horror could befall him in his own home. It explained how he knew his way around the dungeons so well, though.

If this was his home then why had he not simply Apparated out? Certainly he was keyed to the wards?

White light exploded, and Hermione shielded her face with an arm. After she dropped her arm she saw that Lucius and Claudia were no longer Disillusioned. They were very much exposed, and in the distance stood Abraxas Malfoy. _He_ had keyed the wards so Lucius could not escape through Apparition. He had done nothing as Cygnus tortured his only son for days.

_I have done more for Lucius than his own father_, she mused. _I protected him in that interrogation room, when his own blood would not._

Abraxas reminded Hermione of a lizard. It was the cast of his eyes, and the sneer on his pale lips. She almost expected a bifurcated tongue to flick from his mouth.

"Don't make me duel you, Father," said Lucius.

"You speak as though you would be the victor," said Abraxas. "You are wrong."

"I _will_ kill you."

Hermione heard the truth in Lucius's words, and the unvarnished nature of them gave her a chill…and yet she was awash in that heat she felt whenever she thought of him. Even now he managed to frighten and arouse her simultaneously.

Claudia, who hadn't stirred or made a sound, flew from Lucius's shoulder and bobbed in the air. Curled into a ball...a fetus drifting in the womb…

The Dark Lord approached then, and Abraxas bowed and prostrated with all the servility the Dark Lord expected.

"You might kill your father one day, Lucius, but not today," said the Dark Lord. "Where is Cygnus?"

"Dead."

"And the two patrolling the dungeon?"

"Also dead."

Rather than become enraged Lucius murdered his minions, the Dark Lord was pleased. Abraxas, on the other hand, seemed surprised. Had he not realized his son had the power to kill three wizards?

"Watching you cope with this situation has been entertaining," said the Dark Lord. "I thought you would break after five minutes under Cygnus's talented wand. Instead you've lasted for days…and still you refuse to kill the mudblood."

At the word _mudblood_, Claudia's back slammed into the wall. Her arms spread outward while the rest of her body remained vertical - it was a Crucifixion pose. Her gaze darted to and fro, finally landing upon Lucius.

The Dark Lord had used a spell to break the shock enveloping her. He wanted her to be aware of what was happening to her when she died.

"I give you one final chance to obey me," said the Dark Lord. Cygnus's wand disappeared from Lucius's hand, and Lucius's own wand appeared in its place. "You know what you must do."

"No…" said Lucius.

"Ponder this carefully, Lucius. Cygnus was a talented torturer, but I am far more skilled than he. It will be _me_ who will torture you until you finally obey. As before, I will not kill you. You will suffer until you see reason and do what I have ordered of you. Her death is inevitable; the moment I took her she was already dead."

Lucius glanced at Claudia. He straightened, the perfect personification of Malfoy pride. "No."

"Then you have made your bed…_Secui!_"

Lucius's arms and legs were sliced off, and with laser precision. The limbs flopped, inches from the places where they'd been severed, before they were reattached. _Like a doll or a mannequin_, she thought. _They were popped right back into place. _

His screams resounded in the marbled corridor, and it was such a horrible sound Hermione covered her ears.

"_Secui!_"the Dark Lord repeated.

Blood gushed from Lucius's neck as he was partially decapitated, until he resembled a macabre Pez dispenser. Just as suddenly his head was reattached as his limbs were.

But the Dark Lord was not yet finished. "_Scindo!_"

All Hermione saw was pink blood and body parts as Lucius separated into dozens of pieces. It was as if a bomb detonated inside him. The fragments - bits of flesh and bone and muscle and organ - spread for a five feet radius before sucking inward, and Lucius was whole again.

He was _whole, _and amazingly, he was still alive. There was not even a mark on him, and he had literally disintegrated. Again he screamed in that wounded animal way, and tears rolled down his turgid cheeks. It was the first time he'd cried after everything else he endured, and there was a new fear to him, a raw desperation. He would do _anything_ not to be struck with that spell again.

_Eventually everyone breaks…_

Hermione's stomach heaved, and she stifled the urge to be sick.

"Kill the mudblood," the Dark Lord commanded. "I will repeat that spell until you obey. You will feel yourself being torn to bits, again and again."

Lucius's wand had flown across the corridor during the torture, but it shot back into his grasp. He gripped it, and his hands quivered as they'd quivered on the cliff edge at the cottage by the sea.

He stumbled, narrowly avoiding a fall, before righting in a jerky movement. The wand continued to tremble in his hand as it was raised. He peered at her for a long time, memorizing her perhaps.

Claudia's mouth twisted in horror. "Lucius, _no_!"

"_Avada Kedavra_," he whispered.

Green light blazed. Claudia slumped, a frozen look of horror upon her features…

Darkness for a blink, and another memory emerged. The new setting was jarringly different, and Hermione had to readjust, especially after what she'd just witnessed in the other memory.

Lucius loomed on the cliff at the cottage by the sea, and so close to the precipice the toes of his shoes poked over the edge. His robe billowed in the wind, and that hideous ring was on his hand, the amber iris swiveling about as it tended to do. The scar on his neck was fresh and deep crimson, which showed not much time had passed since he was forced to kill the woman he loved.

There were no tears, but he was wracked with raw emotion. Was he contemplating suicide? A fall from such a height would kill him.

"Hello, old friend," he said, but his voice was not the purr it usually was. It was torn and haggard.

Severus had materialized behind him. This was a Severus who had seen hard times, but not quite as many. He was not as gaunt or as haunted as the potions professor Hermione met her first year at Hogwarts.

"Are you planning to jump?" he asked.

"I won't die on this day," said Lucius, but he did not step away from the cliff edge. "I can guess why you're here. Now that the Potter child has somehow managed to vanquish the Dark Lord, you wish for me to join the Light."

"We both know a wizard as powerful as he will return. There will be a time of peace, but not for long. When he returns you could help us defeat him. After what he has done to you…you have more than enough reason to seek vengeance."

Hermione was staggered. It seemed Lucius knew all along Severus was a double-spy, working against the Dark Lord. And yet he never betrayed him.

"I have a son now," said Lucius. "I am not the only one at risk. When the Dark Lord rises he will use Draco against me."

"That's all the more reason to join us. Draco will never truly be safe unless the Dark Lord is dead."

"You may trust Dumbledore, but I do not. There is no guarantee he can offer the safety my family requires. As for this prophecy…" He swept his hair from his cheeks. "It is doubtful a boy can defeat the Dark Lord."

"What if Draco follows the pattern you have set? What if he also falls in love with a Muggle-born?"

Lucius's jaw ticked. "I will make sure he never knows of my past with Claudia. He'll believe I am as prejudice as Father. I will raise Draco to be like him."

"You despised Abraxas."

Snape referred to Abraxas in the past tense. He must have died. _Good riddance_, Hermione thought.

"I would rather Draco be like Father than see any harm come to him. We must all play our parts, Severus. If the world is truly a stage, then my role has already been cast."

The scene faded, and this time Hermione was practically shoved out of the pensieve basin. She sputtered and choked on the liquid, her tears mingled with the moisture on her cheeks. She leaned against the table, fearing she would fall otherwise.

Lucius had suffered for days under Cygnus's creative torture but had not lasted five minutes with the Dark Lord.

He killed Claudia.

She guessed he would, but to see it, to witness the pain and fear and guilt in his eyes as he did it, was far worse than witnessing the torture he had borne.

_Eventually everyone breaks._

No human being could withstand what he went through; even a saint would have eventually broken. It was simply a fact. Therefore, she was not disgusted by what he had done. If anything she was impressed he withstood the torture for such a duration.

He was forced to kill the woman he loved…

Hermione _ached_ for him. The ache deepened the more she recalled the memory. She needed to see him; she needed to hold him, to comfort him.

Once she composed herself, she traveled to Azkaban. She strode to the front gates, only to be met by Pearl. The grandmotherly guard sneered and folded her arms under her bosoms.

"I told you, Miss Granger. Visiting hours are on Saturday."

"Let me in," Hermione warned. The rage she harbored toward Blackburn, mixed with her high emotions after viewing the memory, culminated at that instant. "_Now_."

"Or what?" asked Pearl, looking quite pleased with herself. "If Shacklebolt finds out you fancy Lucius Malfoy…"

"Of the two of us I am on better terms with Minister Shacklebolt. We fought in a war together; we were in the Order of the Phoenix together. It would be a simple thing to ask him to investigate you."

Fear showed itself, but Pearl remained steadfast in spite of it.

"If you don't move your fat arse and take me to Lucius's cell, I will make it my personal mission to destroy you."

Hermione must have been intimidating, because Pearl almost immediately stepped aside and allowed her to enter the prison. Pearl was not happy about it, and in the future Hermione would have to be cautious. The guard might decide to retaliate.

But for now she was leading Hermione to Lucius's cell, and that was all that mattered. Pearl pressed a palm to the door, and Hermione's heart pounded so hard she could hear the cadence in her ears.

Lucius was in his usual spot. Those gray eyes swept up and down her body, and for the first time he allowed her to see that he wanted her. Her own hungry expression mirrored his.

Merlin, she had it bad. For Lucius Malfoy. Part of her still hadn't come to terms with it. Part of her still thought it was wrong. But the other part wanted to touch him and kiss him and do other X-rated acts with him.

"You watched the memory, I assume," he said. "Has it occurred to you that you're more comfortable with killers than normal people? Isn't that why you're here?" _Isn't that why you fancy me?_, he seemed to be asking.

"Is that rhetorical or do you really wish for me to answer?" Her voice was sharper than she intended.

This was not how she imagined the visit playing out. She imagined rushing into his arms and snogging the hell out of him as she'd longed to do - not bicker with him.

"I see. You can dissect a killer's mind with ease, but you can't handle it when the favor is returned."

"Why are you provoking me? Am I not welcome here?"

"Would I have given you my most private memories if you weren't welcome? I've welcomed you in my head, haven't I? What makes you think you aren't welcome outside it as well?"

"I don't know." She hated not knowing, not having the answers. It prodded her curiosity all the more.

A silence fell. What was he thinking? She had spent years studying the minds of men like Lucius and took pride in the knowledge that she could intuit their thought processes. But with Lucius, it was difficult.

_You're too close_, said an inner voice. Hermione had to agree with that voice. She was way too close. If she was smart she would leave his cell and never return. She wouldn't seek him out once he was released. She would cut him from her life as Draco wanted her to.

But she couldn't do it.

"If I know my son he does not want you seeing me," he said.

"He has made mention of that."

"But you're here now."

That spoke volumes, didn't it? She'd said little, but her actions betrayed her. "Draco is not in control of my life."

"So you continue to visit me in order to rebel against him?"

"My presence here has nothing to do with him."

"Then prove it. Come here."

"Why?"

"Because I want to touch you. I promise to be gentle." His eyes flared in a way that made her think he wouldn't be gentle, not at all. She moved toward him, as if her legs had a mind of their own.

_You are sick_, that inner voice said, but she ignored it and settled beside him.

"Take off my cuffs." At her hesitation, he added, "I am unarmed and you have your wand."

Her reluctance was not because she feared he would harm her; it was exactly the opposite. She feared he would give her pleasure. Maybe too much. Maybe so much she would never want to be separated from him again.

"This would be better for both of us if you removed the cuffs," he said.

How could she refuse him? She waved her wand and the cuffs dissolved.

"Why did you come here?" he asked.

He reached out, extra slow as he had before, but she didn't stop him. She watched his hand drop to her upper thigh. It didn't stray, and his fingers were so warm she felt the heat through the fabric of her trousers.

_Lucius Malfoy is touching my upper thigh!_ Yet she did not move away from him. If anything, she yearned to lean into him, to prove that not only was the touch welcome but deeply desired.

Merlin, he was gorgeous. Those gray eyes were intently focused on her as if she was the only woman in the world. His hair framed his squared jaw in a wave of platinum. It looked so thick and glossy and soft - it was probably silky smooth. And that jagged scar on his neck, that beautiful imperfection…

His hand lifted from her thigh, only to travel upward, skirting a hair's breadth from her abdomen and breasts. The motion was slow and provocative, meant to tease and excite. His fingers finally came to rest on the side of her neck, and they trailed along her jugular.

He smiled; no doubt her pulse throbbed under his caress. "You didn't answer my question."

Hermione had forgotten his question. In fact, she'd forgotten everything except the feel of him.

She was acting a fool. She was a grown woman who had bedded more than one man. Lucius certainly had a marked impact on her, but that didn't mean she would dissolve into a pile of mush because of a mere touch…no matter how sensual.

His fingers glided round her throat, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "I asked why you came here," he said.

Ah, yes, now she remembered. "You already know."

"You want me." This was said in his typical forward manner, without a hint of arrogance. He was simply stating a truth. "I'm sure you've realized by now I want you as well." He watched her closely, as if to gauge her reaction. "You often stare at my neck scar."

"I-" She paused and cleared her throat. _Get a grip, Granger!_, she thought, before starting again. "It's one of your best features."

"Most find it distasteful, and you believe it's one of my best features?"

"It's not a flaw. It's beautiful."

"Beautiful," he echoed, with a hint of amusement. His fingers dipped down her throat to her décolletage. Goose bumps erupted across her flesh. Just as he reached the swell of her breast, he withdrew. Disappointment washed through her, tailed by confusion. Why the sudden withdrawal? Had she said something wrong?

"If you do this there is no going back," he said. "And there will be consequences."

He was right. She could lose her job, her friends, everything that comprised her life. Snape's portrait claimed her path would not have a happy ending. _Was_ she ready for the consequences of her actions?

"It's as I thought," he said. "You can't decide whether it's okay to want me."

"You'll have to learn to trust me," he went on. "Or maybe you like it better this way. There's more of a thrill if you don't trust me, isn't there? Maybe I'll hurt you…snap your neck..."

Her heart picked up, especially when she was suddenly on her back. His full weight rested upon her, and their faces were so close their noses were almost touching.

In her other relationships she was the one in control in the bedroom. That would be impossible with Lucius; he was a man who took charge.

"Why are you submitting to me? Allowing me to pleasure you?" he asked.

"I've wanted you since I saw your memories. After what I saw you go through."

"This is about pity, then?" His voice had a lethal edge. Most witches would have been frightened with Lucius Malfoy pinning them down and talking to them in that tone, but a wet heat pooled between her legs.

"I don't pity you, but I do feel compassion for you. Compassion and pity are not the same. I wouldn't allow you to do this if I wasn't attracted to you."

"You want me even though I'm a killer? An ex Death Eater?"

"Even though," she said, and plunged a hand into his hair. His hair was as soft as she imagined. His eyes shut, and his mouth parted. She wondered how long it had been since someone touched him with affection, how long it had been since he made love. Years, she knew. She ran a thumb across the neck scar.

He had endured so much pain…and he hadn't asked for it. His father and the Dark Lord had sealed his fate in some respects. But now the Dark Lord was dead, and Lucius was free from his hold. He spent the last ten years in prison, in solitary confinement, with time to think and reflect. The man he'd once been before the Dark Lord forced him to kill Claudia had begun to reemerge. Maybe it had always been there, deep under the surface. He hadn't destroyed the Muggle things in the cottage by the sea, after all. He left it as it was – as a shrine to the person he'd once been.

Hermione's thumb stilled, and his bearing changed. He became the Lucius she remembered from the war, the arrogant, cruel bastard that was a Death Eater. The wet heat pooling between her legs heated even more seeing him like that. Galvanized, she traced his neck scar once more, feeling the raised flesh there, the thick texture of it.

Again his lids closed and those lips parted, and he seemed very vulnerable and not at all like Death Eater Lucius. This was the Lucius who spent time at the cottage by the sea with Claudia.

Always those two parts would be within him, and sometimes the cold, cruel Lucius would dominate, but other times the other Lucius would rear. The one who had fallen in love with a Muggle-born, the one that had not killed yet.

She appreciated them both, for different reasons.

His lips hovered over hers. The moment might have been an infinity rather than a few seconds; the anticipation was nearly painful. She waited for his lips to fall.

Finally, finally, their lips connected, and gently until their mouths parted. His tongue swirled and impaled, swirled and impaled. He instinctively knew how to drive her to the brink. Sometimes he sucked, and sometimes he bit, and sometimes he nibbled on her lower lip. A dizziness overcame her, and a lightness similar to floating. She was swooning from an overload of pleasure, and from a mere kiss...

If a kiss could do this to her, what would shagging him do to her? She read once that intense lovemaking sessions could cause a person to pass out. Hopefully that wouldn't happen here -

An alarm sounded in her head, and so loudly she jerked. Her forehead crashed into his nose.

"He's at Ingrid's!" cried Hermione. The alarm she'd placed around the perimeter of Ingrid's house had activated; someone with lethal intent had entered the premises.

She scrambled out from under Lucius, and though she was quickly falling into her Auror frame of mind again, she was devoid without his body atop her.

Lucius adjusted his clothing with elegant flourishes. "Is this about Blackburn?" Certainly the man was in agony now, as it had been so long for him and they were interrupted. But per usual he was an expert at hiding the things he didn't want others to see.

"Yes. I have to go." She hastily recast the cuffs. Purple light pulsed around his wrists. "I plan to return. As soon as I'm able."

He smirked, looking dangerously handsome. "I know you will."


	13. Scars

Disclaimer—I don't own JK Rowling's characters.

_I want to thank everyone for their reviews and alerts!_

_Sorry for the delay. It has been hectic lately, which has been frustrating because I've been itching to write more than ever._

_I'm sure most of you have heard about the F5 tornado that destroyed Joplin, Missouri. I live a town away (I was huddled in my basement when the tornado hit) and one of my friends who lives in Joplin lost her house. I'm dedicating this chapter to her. _

_Warning for violence. Rated M for a reason._

Chapter Thirteen

Scars

Once Hermione left Azkaban, she cast a patronus. The otter split into two identical copies. One copy flew toward Harry at the Auror division. The other flew toward Draco, wherever he was. They went in opposite directions, but both would relate the same message. Then Hermione materialized in front of Genue Manor.

Harry had ordered an Auror to watch over Ingrid, but the guard was missing. Either he left his post or Blackburn had interfered. Hopefully it was the former; she would rather the Auror be incompetent than dead. Just as the D-word entered her mind she slipped, and before she could so much as cry out a Cushioning Charm she had belly-flopped to the ground.

She examined the spot where she slipped and saw nothing. But when she touched, a slick substance smeared on her fingers. It was invisible, but it was definitely there. "_Finite_," she said.

A body appeared, that of a wizard clad in an Auror robe, but the face was turned away from her. The ground around him was thick with blood, which was what she slipped in. The murderer had Disillusioned his victim and that included the bodily fluids. She moved round to see the face, and her chest squeezed when she recognized Terry Boot. After he beat Lucius she hated him, but he didn't deserve this.

Hermione had seen a countless number of dead bodies, between the war and her career and the memories she'd collected from killers. Why had she filled her life with blood and guts? How much more would she force herself to bear?

She was unsure where this sudden weariness had come from, but she began to wonder if she wasn't on the road to burning out. It wasn't uncommon for Aurors to burn out, though Hermione believed, perhaps arrogantly, that she would never suffer that fate. And yet, she _was_ a mess, between barely sleeping and barely eating, and the added anxiety caused by Blackburn's curse and Dean's disappearance. Admitting it wounded her pride, but it was the truth.

_Keep going, _said that inner voice_. Harry and the others will arrive soon. They'll tend to Terry. There's nothing you can do for him now - he is beyond help. Ingrid and her father might not be._

Galvanized, Hermione moved away from Terry and checked the wards surrounding the manor. They'd been decimated, sliced apart. Surely someone who could destroy such powerful wards would have detected her spell. Which meant Blackburn might be expecting her.

Three life signs occupied the house. Ingrid, her ailing father...and Blackburn? She had no evidence Blackburn was responsible for Boot's death or that he triggered the spell she placed at the manor, but she knew it was him. There was no one else it could be.

It was against protocol to enter the residence without back-up, and her back-up was en route. She only had to wait a little longer, but time was burning. Blackburn wouldn't dilly-dally.

Why hadn't he already grabbed Ingrid and left? He must have realized a team of Aurors would soon descend.

Ingrid might be fighting for her life; she might be delaying him. Or Blackburn wanted Hermione to charge in alone. If that was so he had a plan to deal with her - and possibly a plan to deal with the other Aurors as well. There was a high possibility that this was a trap, and it would be foolish of her to willingly become ensnared in it. But if she did nothing and something happened to Ingrid or Ingrid's father, she would never forgive herself, not if she could have prevented it. Where in the hell was her back-up? Only a minute had passed, but it felt like much longer.

The life signs began to move. One moment they were in one room in the house, another moment they were in a new room, and so on and so forth. They weren't actually traveling about so randomly. This was an anti-tracking charm camouflaging Blackburn's true location. She countered with a spell that would allow her to hear inside the manor, but the occupants were silent.

The longer she loitered, the more likely he would disappear with Ingrid. Hermione couldn't sit on her hands and wait for the cavalry to arrive. If Blackburn took Ingrid, he would administer the potion and his twisted fantasies would become reality. Two more people would be dead-

A scream resounded. It was definitely female. _Ingrid_.

That was it then; Hermione's decision was made. Ingrid was being harmed. She had to try to save her.

Hermione's fingers tightened around her wand as she Apparated into the manor. She appeared in a vast foyer. A doorway led to the east, another to the west. A grand staircase was due north. Apparating from room to room would be dangerous, as it would drain Hermione's magic, and she would need all of her strength to deal with Blackburn. She would have to search the old fashioned way.

But which direction to go? The answer came when she heard another scream, issuing from somewhere upstairs.

She hurried toward the stairs, noticing the row of portraits on the wall parallel. All depicted stern characters who eyed her unblinkingly. Their hard expressions made creepy-crawlies slither up her arms.

Her two-way mirror chimed as she mounted the first step. She opened the sleek, silver compact and saw Harry's face looming there.

"Damn it, Hermione! Why didn't you wait for back-up?" Instead of waiting for a response, he went on. "How did you manage to enter? The wards need to be cracked, and it could take some time."

"But they were destroyed when I-"

_Ah_. Blackburn had reerected the wards after she Apparated into the manor, effectively cutting her off from the others, who would be delayed.

A movement made her head dart toward the right, where the portraits were. Each denizen strode closer and closer, as if to exit their frames, growing larger as they neared. There was a tearing sound, and they stepped out. One after another, each holding a wand of their very own.

There was a woman in a nineteenth century gown, complete with hat and tiny, pointed boots. There was a man in a severe, black robe whose gray beard spilled to his waist. There were two children, a boy and girl, who were so similar in appearance they had to be siblings. The girl had a red bow in her blonde ringlets, and the boy had rosy cheeks. Finally, there was an elderly couple, who linked hands after stepping from their individual portraits. They might have been Ingrid's grandparents.

Hermione blinked in shock. This was impossible! Portraits could not enter the real world. And yet her eyes weren't deceiving her.

"Hermione? Hermione!" Harry shouted.

The mirror dropped from her fingers as the portraits aimed their wands at her. Six to one was not favorable odds.

"_Incendio_!" she cried, and as the bearded portrait was engulfed in flame, she shielded and dove. Curses and spells ricocheted around her as she hit the floor and rolled. Then she was on her feet, zig-zagging as she ran, ducking as more spells fired upon her.

A spell sliced through her shield and struck her leg. Shouting in pain, she stumbled, but managed to dive into the corridor leading to the east wing. Hot blood gushed down her calf. She erected a shield that would bar anyone from entering the corridor, at least for a while. It was weak and slap-dash, but it would give her a bit of time.

The wound went down to the bone, and blood spurted at an alarming rate. She used a spell to close the wound and another to clean the blood so she wouldn't leave a trail. Limping, she made her way down the corridor, occasionally craning her head to see if the portraits had gathered around the shield she'd erected at the end of the hall.

More portraits – these still trapped in their frames, thank Merlin - glared at her, and those creepy-crawlies slithered up her arms again. If they, too, escaped their frames and attacked her…how could she defend herself against so many?

_Good job, Hermione. You're definitely _not_ the cleverest witch of her age… _

"Shut it," she said.

Who knew how many portraits were in the manor; there could be dozens of them. She couldn't face an army alone. Her only option was to retreat. Eventually the wards would be cracked, and the Aurors could storm the manor with more than enough manpower to defeat the portraits and Blackburn. Furthermore, Harry needed to be informed the portraits would ambush the team. He might need to call for extra back-up, depending on how many Aurors were on scene.

Hermione said a quick prayer for Ingrid and Disapparated…only nothing happened. She tried once more, but with the same result. It was similar to pressing against a brick wall, except the brick wall was the wards. They'd been designed so no one could Apparate in _or_ out. Once more she attempted to Apparate, but into a different room, with no success.

Cursing silently, Hermione picked up her pace, hissing when her wound ripped open. This time when she craned her head, she saw the portraits shooting spells at the shield she erected. It wouldn't take long for it to weaken.

She heard that familiar tearing sound, and saw the portraits along the wall stepping from their frames. She gasped when she noticed they were as flat as a sheet of parchment. Viewing them head-on it wasn't obvious, but seeing them in profile made their strange two-dimensional nature clear. They moved toward her, wands at the ready.

Hermione dashed into the room closest to her, and breathed a sigh of relief when there was not one portrait. This was a bedroom, and people didn't want portraits eavesdropping on bedroom activities.

She shielded the bedroom door and jumped when it began bouncing on its hinges. The portraits beyond were firing spells at it, and possibly pounding on it with their fists.

Pain zipped up her leg, drawing her attention to her injury. When she closed it, the wound ripped back open, and painfully so. This curse, whatever it was, was resistant to healing, and it caused the wound to bleed more than it should. If she lost much more blood she would pass out and die. She conjured bandages and applied them to the wound, but they were soaked through with frightening speed. The curse must have stopped blood from coagulating.

Great. She'd been turned into a hemophiliac.

Still the door jolted, and strange grunts emanated from the other side. It was odd that not one of the portraits had spoken, as portraits were usually loquacious. Then again, they didn't usually escape their frames and try to kill people. Nothing about this situation was normal.

They would break through the shield soon. She strengthened them, feeling lightheaded as she did so, and collapsed at the foot of the bed.

There was no fireplace in the room, so the floo wasn't an option. But a portkey…She retrieved the scrap of parchment, the one bearing the address to the mysterious manor under the Fidelius Charm. "_Portus_." But when she touched the parchment, there was no fish hook in her navel sensation. The portkey did not work either.

Hermione was thoroughly trapped. A number of killer portraits (and didn't that sound mental?) were about to break down the door and descend upon her. Fear raked through her as she strengthened the shield again. Eventually she wouldn't have the energy to strengthen them; she was already becoming woozy and fatigued from blood loss.

She thought of Professor Snape's portrait, declaring that her path did not have a happy ending. Did he know she would die in Genue Manor at the hands of killer portraits?

And suddenly it came to her as answers often did, out of the blue, when she was least expecting it. She had been so stupid! So unforgivably stupid! If Severus could hear her speak of Blackburn because he was not truly a living entity, then he could explain everything to Harry!

Such a simple solution, and she didn't even think of it until now, when it was too late.

She wondered why Snape's portrait hadn't concluded the same and taken the initiative. Surely in the last twenty-four hours he could have communicated what he knew to someone. But Harry would have mentioned it if he knew anything.

Hermione was dying because of her own stupidity. She thought of Harry and Ron and Ginny. Would she ever see them again? And what about Lucius? Would she ever feel his kiss again, would they ever make love? Her insides twisted.

Did it matter who Lucius was? Did it matter how briefly she'd known the real him? Did it truly matter that she would be sacked if she had a relationship with him? She cared for him, but had been too damn stubborn to admit how much.

Hermione was about to die, and she wasn't thinking about how lost she would be if she wasn't an Auror. She was thinking about love, about forming a connection with another human being. She was thinking of how cold and empty her bed was, and what it would be like to have Lucius there, wrapping her in his arms. Ginny's drunken rants were right - what sort of a life did she really have?

But it was too late...

Hermione was so _cold_. Her teeth chattered and her lids were heavy, as if they were weighted down with stones. She forced them open when the door exploded. Jagged bits of wood shot in all directions, and the portraits rushed into the room. She raised an arm to cast a spell, but her wand slipped from her hand. Still she fought to keep her eyes open, but it was for naught. She had lost too much blood. Was she dying finally?

Hands grabbed at her. They were made of paint, but they were as hard as granite, and it was bizarre because she could see the brushstrokes upon them, and the crackle in the paint as some old portraits sometimes had...

Her eyes shut, and no matter how hard she tried she could not open them.

xOxOxOx

"You really are a disappointment," said a voice.

Hermione concurred. She'd made too many stupid mistakes and she'd ruined everything.

"Still the impetuous Gryffindor," the voice continued. Hermione vaguely recognized the voice, and she definitely recognized the derision when he said _Gryffindor_. He sounded as if he was discussing fecal matter, or something equally distasteful to him.

There was but darkness and the disembodied voice. Where was she? Harry explained what dying was like once, after they'd shared a glut of firewhisky. It was the only time he ever spoke of his experience. He mentioned a train station, and Dumbledore…but none of those things were here. There was only blackness.

_Well, maybe you're not dead._

Her lids popped open. A blurry, flesh colored mass loomed over her. She squinted, and the blur sharpened. _Blackburn_. Blackburn was looming over her. He was Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, his flaws hidden beneath a series of glamours. How did he really look beneath them?

She tried to move, but she was bound with rope that coiled around her wrists and ankles. The more she struggled against the bonds, the tighter they drew. And she was disarmed - her wand poked out of Blackburn's robe pocket.

Her gaze darted around the room. She was in a library. Ingrid and an elderly man - her father probably - were huddled against a book shelf. In spite of Ingrid's submissive posture, her eyes blazed. If the witch had a chance she would hurt Blackburn – and badly. Ingrid's father seemed confused, an old, bewildered man who hadn't been in his right mind for years.

When his dementia struck Ingrid quit a promising apprenticeship with a renowned potions master in order to care for him. Most would have left their father to be tended by house elves or checked him into St. Mungo's. But Ingrid refused to abandon him. He was the most important person in her life. The most important _man_ in her life...

Yet again there was a niggling in the back of Hermione's mind, as if an idea wanted to form. But it disappeared before she could see it.

"I should have let you bleed to death, Miss Granger," Blackburn said. "I was hoping for a worthy opponent, and you aren't it."

"Sod…off…" Hermione managed.

He chuckled. "You're amusing nonetheless. I suppose I'll still enjoy playing with you. I do have more plans for you." His smile was too charming and was jarringly out of place, like laughter at a funeral. "As disappointing as you've proven to be, I won't waste my dramatic moment scolding you any further." He turned to Ingrid. "_Imperio_."

Ingrid's face went blank and slack as the curse hit home.

"You hate your father," said Blackburn. "You loathe him more than anyone you've ever known. He is a burden, isn't he? You spend your life looking after him rather than having a life of your own. He is a responsibility you don't want, that you have never wanted. You want to hurt him."

"No, Ingrid!" Hermione gasped, as if her shouting had the power to counter the Imperius Curse.

Ingrid's face molded with ire and purple light coursed from her wand. The old man seized and bucked, and Blackburn looked on with satisfaction.

Ingrid was being forced to torture her own father. Somewhere deep inside the real Ingrid was aware of her actions, but she couldn't stop herself from doing it.

Now that Blackburn was distracted, Hermione pulled her legs closer to her chest and shoved her fingers into her boot. Her dagger was there, but because her wrists were tied together it was difficult to grab the blade; both hands couldn't fit inside the boot. After a bit of struggling, her fingertips contacted the cool handle…

"I would like nothing more than to see him suffer, but we must hurry," said Blackburn, after the _Crucio_ had persisted for a little while. "Finish him off."

Red light struck Ingrid's father, just as Hermione curled the tips of her fingers around the dagger and pulled.

The dagger was bespelled to cut through almost anything. The ropes around her wrists and ankles fell apart like she'd sliced through butter. Free at last, Hermione pounced onto Blackburn, and the force of her body made him lose balance. Together they fell to the floor. She stabbed him in the shoulder, but he didn't make a single sound, as though he hadn't felt the pain of it.

Hermione reached for her wand and plucked it from his pocket. She was about to Stupefy him when he threw her off and began to recite an incantation-

Only a syllable was spoken before she Silenced him. Despite this, the spell slammed into her, and she couldn't move. She couldn't even scream as pain, like a thousand razors cutting into her flesh, swept over her.

Suddenly, from outside the library, she heard shouting and explosions. The Aurors had made it into the manor. They were battling the portraits and would burst into the room any second. Blackburn snatched up Ingrid and stepped _inside_ the nearest portrait. Just as it was theoretically impossible for portraits to enter the real world, it should also have been impossible for Blackburn to enter _their_ world.

_What has he done?, _Hermione thought, before the darkness engulfed her.

xOxOxOx

How many times had she seen Lucius die? She had lost count. As if her mind was stuck in a loop, she saw it happen again and again.

Blackburn shouting, and her wand snapping in two. Her shock at the destruction of her wand…Blackburn shouting again and a spell barreling toward her, only for a body to leap in front of the spell, taking it for her. Followed by horror when she realized it was Lucius who had leaped in front of her.

From there, Lucius always hit the ground hard and rolled down an embankment. His own wand flew from his grasp and disappeared beneath the snow. He rolled and rolled, until he came to a stop, sprawled in an X. He was motionless, and blood pooled around him.

She rushed to his side, always recognizing the midnight blue cloak with the creamy fur lining, and the hideous ring on his finger. She'd had part of this dream once, back when Draco was in hospital and she'd called Lucius's name in her sleep.

Only for the dream to start all over again.

At first it was so horrible she didn't want to see. She would close her eyes and try to ignore it. But as it persisted she couldn't help but watch, and she noticed certain details. How her wand had snapped, for one. How Lucius's own wand had vanished beneath the snow as he rolled down the embankment. And the setting. They were in a snowy field, but in the distance there was an old chapel, covered in creeping vines.

And the hideous ring...what was it? Why was she seeing it in her dream, and in Lucius's memories? It must have some importance.

But most of all, she wondered why Lucius had thrown himself in front of her, protecting her from the spell with his own body. Why hadn't he erected a shield or defended her from a distance?

He _had_ saved her, but it was also an act of suicide. She recalled his last memory, when he was standing on the edge of the cliff at the cottage by the sea, so close the tips of his shoes poked over it. He had been considering suicide then, of that she was sure.

And the more she saw him die, the more she understood pieces of the dream were missing. Always at the end she was kneeling beside him. She would gather him in her arms and hold him as he died, watching helplessly as the life drained from his eyes.

Where was Blackburn? She doubted he would stand back and let this little scene unfold without trying to kill her again. And why hadn't she grabbed Lucius's wand? She knew where it was hidden under the snow - she had seen the dream so many times she could find it almost immediately. Her wand was snapped, but she could use Lucius's to transport him to St. Mungo's.

It didn't make sense, but it was a dream. Dreams weren't logical. _If_ this was really a dream.

She wished she could stop it, or change it. No matter how many times Lucius died, her grief never diminished. It was like it was happening to her for the first time.

Maybe this was her own personal hell.

Strange that her version of hell involved Lucius killing himself in order to save her life. If she'd seen Draco or Harry or Ginny do the same, it would be as horrible. Why had Lucius's death been chosen to torment her?

Hermione could only watch as the dream rebooted, and yet again she saw Lucius leaping in front of her, being struck by Blackburn's spell, and rolling down the embankment. The wand flying from his hand and vanishing under the snow…only there was a bright, flickering light, and a voice.

"Miss Granger."

Her first thought was that it was Blackburn. He had kidnapped her, and now he was waking her, as he had awoken her in the library earlier. But no, the voice was female.

There she was, kneeling beside Lucius, gathering him into her arms. Sobbing as the life drained from his eyes, whispering his name and telling him she loved him, as she had done so many times.

More flickering light, and a flash of a woman's face. Hermione brow furrowed. What was happening?

"Miss Granger," the voice said again. "It's time to wake up, Dear."

The dream had restarted. Her wand snapping…Lucius diving in front of Blackburn's spell…his wand vanishing in the snow…Then the scene splintered and cracked.

Hermione gasped. She hadn't been trapped in her own personal hell as she'd feared. It had been a nightmare, repeating over and over again. Now she was finally awake.

Healer Shortbird was beside her bed. It was a hospital bed, and Hermione was in a hospital gown. Judging by the horrid floral wallpaper, this was the room Draco was placed in after Marcus Flint nearly gutted him.

Beyond the healer stood Draco himself. His hair was disarrayed, and there were dark circles under his eyes. How long had he stood vigil at her bedside? What had happened?

"You must not move. You are still in need of healing," said Shortbird, and gently pushed Hermione to her back again. Pain bolted through her, and she groaned. She hadn't been in this much agony since that Dark wizard struck her with the bone-breaking curse. The wizard Draco had killed in cold blood.

She tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry her tongue practically stuck to the roof of her mouth. Shortbird Summoned a glass of water and held it so Hermione could drink. The cold water spilled into her, and was so wonderful and refreshing she wanted to gulp, but the healer cautioned her to sip.

"Please contact Harry Potter at the Auror Division," said Draco, when Hermione's thirst was sated. "I'll explain everything to Hermione."

Shortbird nodded and glided out. Draco settled into the chair next to the bed and leaned forward. It was the very chair in which she had her first death dream about Lucius.

Gently Draco took her hand, which was covered in a thick bandage that resembled a mitten. She didn't much like his grim look.

"Just tell me," she said. She preferred to hear bad news straight out.

"You've been in a coma for a week."

_A week? _She had experienced that dream, over and over, for seven days?

"You were luckier than most. For some reason the curse wasn't as potent as it should have been."

"I Silenced him before he could say the entire incantation." Doing so had reduced the spell's effectiveness. This had happened to her once during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Dolohov hit her with a nasty curse, but she'd Silenced him mid-incantation and the curse hadn't killed her. He had to finish the incantation nonverbally, and that had made it less powerful. "What about Ingrid?"

Draco shook his head. "We haven't found her."

Blackburn kidnapped her, she now recalled. Somehow he'd stepped into the portrait with Ingrid in tow. Since it had been a week, Ingrid was probably already dead. But if he followed his typical pattern he would have left the body to be discovered.

"We aren't sure if she's dead or alive," said Draco. "Only that she's disappeared."

Hermione didn't have much hope that Ingrid or Dean was still alive. Blackburn had probably used the potion on them. He could keep the bodies preserved for years if he wanted and could unveil them at his leisure.

"And Ingrid's father?"

Draco's lips pursed. "Dead."

Silence as she reflected on that. If only she had untied herself sooner...maybe she could have saved the old man. And Ingrid wouldn't have been responsible for her own father's death.

"I've been out for a week..." Hermione struggled to wrap her mind around that. She didn't feel as if she'd been sleeping for such a duration, despite the dream repeating dozens and dozens of times. "Did you investigate the manor, the one hidden under the Fidelius?"

Draco would have grown curious, and he would have hoped to find Dean there, as Hermione had.

"Yes," said Draco. "Dean wasn't there. The manor has been abandoned for years by the look of it. But I did begin to wonder why you were so adamant to visit, and I did some digging. But before I tell you what I found, I need to know who did this to you. Who was in Genue Manor? Who took Ingrid?"

Draco didn't know it was Blackburn? Surely Professor Snape's portrait had told _someone _what he knew - it had been days since their discussion. Yet, it seemed he hadn't.

"Kent Blackburn," she said.

"Hermione? Do you remember who did this?"

Draco hadn't heard her. Of course.

"I don't know who he was, and I didn't get a good look at him," she lied. "I need to speak to Professor Snape's portrait." She sat upright, but regretted it. Her head swam, and the pain bolted through her again. She was in no shape to jump back to work, no matter how much she wanted to. "You have to speak to Professor Snape's portrait as soon as you can. He'll know what to tell you."

"I will, but you have to stop moving about." Draco sounded slightly panicked, and he rarely ever panicked about anything.

She frowned. "How badly am I hurt? What's my prognosis?" She scrutinized herself. Her hands, arms, legs, and feet were swathed in bandages. She could feel more bandages wrapped around her midsection, hidden beneath the hospital gown.

"Like I said, you were in a coma for days."

"And? Tell me Draco."

He sighed and ran fingers through his hair. "You were a mess when I found you. The only thing I could think to do was to put a stasis spell on you, to stop the curse from spreading." Like Blackburn's victims, the curse would have been frozen in time. "I brought you here and they induced the coma. Slowly they were able to destroy the curse, but there are scars."

"Am I disfigured?" she asked, surprised at her calm tone. Inside, she was absolutely terrified. "Bring me a mirror." She tugged at the bandages about her face and head, and began to unwind them. It was awkward with the thick gauze mitten on her fingers.

"Hermione, you've just woken."

"Draco. _Please_."

He hesitated but conjured a hand mirror.

Her face was riddled with red scar tissue. Each scar perfectly fit into the other, as if hundreds of puzzle pieces were emblazoned on her flesh. They were even on her eyelids, her scalp, her lips, and her ears.

"Is my entire body..." she asked, though she couldn't finish. The fact that she was swaddled in bandages was an indication the scarring was extensive.

"Your body suffered the worst of it," said Draco, and Vanished the mirror. "But you have them all over. They're resistant to healing, but Healer Shortbird believes many of them can be healed over. Harry has already contacted a specialist, who will be able to help...whoever did this to you...he wanted you to be severely scarred."

Blackburn was disfigured by dragon pox when he was a child. Now he'd made sure she was as disfigured as he was, maybe more so. The _bastard_. He said he would make her suffer, and he was making good on his promise.

"How much can a specialist help? Will my face always be like this?"

Hermione had never considered herself a vain woman, but she looked monstrous. Her recent experiences had taught her so much about her priorities, and her feelings for Lucius. She wanted him, and for keeps if possible, but now he would _never_ want her. Not when she looked like this.

She could hardly breathe. She frantically pulled oxygen into her lungs, but still the room was spinning and she couldn't breathe…

Healer Shortbird hurried in, and a tide of warmth flowed over Hermione. The panic attack diminished until it was no more. She was left feeling drugged, and much too calm.

"I asked you not to frighten her, Mr. Malfoy," Shortbird chastised.

Draco gave the healer a guilty look, and Hermione giggled. His eyes snapped over to hers, and his lips twitched until he could contain a lopsided smile no longer.

"She'll be a bit dopey for a while," Shortbird said, and left the room again.

_Draco still cares for me, _Hermione realized_. I look like a monster, but Draco's here. He's been here, at my bedside for a week, as I would have been if the situation was reversed. And he saved my life._

"I love you, Draco," she said. She could have been floating, Levitating over the bed. And she felt tipsy, as if she'd drank just enough firewhisky. There was also no longer a filter between her thoughts and her mouth.

His smile vanished, and he became serious. "What?" Draco seemed tentative, and he usually wasn't tentative about anything. But she was so drugged by the spell she didn't notice.

"You're my best mate and I love you."

"Your best mate," he said, and pain streaked over his handsome features. He turned away, and when he faced her again he was wearing his Malfoy mask. "Of course. You're my best mate, too."

"I'm so happy to hear you say that. I was sure you hated me because I'm so taken with your father."

Draco jolted as if he'd been struck with a fist. Hermione, however, was too drugged to notice that as well.

"I thought I was going to die, and all I could think of was him. How all my reasons for staying away from him were stupid."

"They aren't stupid," Draco said.

"What's more important than love? Dumbledore was right about love…"

"Father will hurt you."

"No, he won't."

"Hermione-"

He went quiet when Harry strode into the room. Ginny was hot on her husband's heels.

Gratefully, Hermione was too disoriented to notice Ginny's look of revulsion when she saw the scars. As for Harry, he had encountered worse over his career and was simply relieved Hermione was out of the coma.

Ginny cried and told Hermione how much she had worried. Harry told her more about the specialist, who would consult with Hermione the following day and who was optimistic the scars could be removed.

Other visitors came and went. Neville and Hannah – Hannah brought some of her shepherd's pie, because she knew how much Hermione liked it. Other Aurors visited. She had never worked with most of them and only saw them in meetings or passed them in the corridors.

By then the spell had begun to wear off, but Healer Shortbird had re-bandaged her face. Hermione was spared from the adverse reactions her colleagues might have shown if they'd seen her scars.

Even Shacklebolt made an appearance, and there were many things she wanted to say to him, but she was too tired. Shortbird had forced her to drink a potion that made her feel drowsy.

Later, when the moon was high, Hermione woke with a start. Her head was clear, and though her body ached and stung, she refused to remain in bed when there were things to do.

The idea had risen before, but at that time she'd been hesitant to break the law. Asking Ginny to crack the wards surrounding an abandoned manor was one thing, but trespassing on a high ranking politician's property with the intent to illegally search it was an another thing. Not only had the illegality of the act stopped her, but the knowledge that whatever proof she found could not be used against Blackburn in court. There was also the fear that she could be sacked, which had been her biggest reason for not doing this before now, if she was to be completely honest with herself.

But now...now the gloves were off. Hermione no longer cared about what was legal and what wasn't. Nor did she care about what could or couldn't be included in his trial, or if Shacklebolt would sack her. She had to expose Blackburn. She could not fight him alone and lives were on the line. And she had already handled everything poorly.

Hermione Vanished the bandages on her body, but kept the bandages on her face. She recalled her monstrousness, and her instinct was to hide her condition. Slowly, often softly grunting, she began to dress, purposely ignoring the scars on her naked physique. At some point in future she would have to look at them, but she didn't have the courage yet. Seeing her face had been traumatic enough.

As she dressed, she forced herself not to think of Lucius. Looking back with a clear head, she recalled the flash of revulsion Ginny showed when she saw the scars. Hermione didn't ever want Lucius to look at her in the same manner.

Blackburn might have permanently disfigured her, and he had most definitely taken Lucius away from her. Rage boiled, and with such potency she became dizzy. She briefly allowed the rage to build and spread, then tamped it down. She would eventually have to vent, but her anger would cloud her judgment now. Already her judgment had been questionable.

She Disillusioned and limped from the hospital room. The corridor was empty, and too-white as always. In the distance she heard whispers...probably healers communing. Each step was agony. Every scar seemed on the verge of ripping open from the slightest motion. She decided she couldn't muscle through it and Levitated, floating toward the public Apparition zone at the other end of the hospital.

She hadn't gone far when she heard, "_Finite_." Her Disillusionment fell away, and there was Draco, staring at her with his arms wrapped around his chest.

"Off to work, are you?" he asked. "Even though you've been in a coma and you aren't fully healed."

"You expected me to sneak out," she said. "You were waiting for me."

"I do know you well."

"I'm not going back to bed. I have something important to do."

"Tell me what it is, and I will do it."

If only the situation was that easy. She shook her head. "I would like to, but I can't."

"You're in no shape to do anything. And how do you plan on defending yourself if you're attacked?"

Hermione was about to answer, but instead found herself Stupefied. She couldn't react at all as Draco Levitated her back to her room and gently dropped her into bed.


	14. Recovery

_I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters._

_Thanks to all who have alerted or reviewed. It gives me the warm fuzzies!_

_No fanfic would be complete without a little angst._

Chapter Fourteen

Recovery

Hermione gritted her teeth and tried not to scream. The potions in her system were supposed to dull the pain, but they weren't working. The healers might as well have been pouring acid on her back. She imagined her skin melting like hot candle wax.

She gripped the sheet beneath her and clamped her lids shut. Tears streamed down her scarred cheeks nonetheless. "Enough!"

Her voice echoed in the too-white chamber. Hermione glared at the healers gathered in the observation room, the ones behind glass who were so excited to watch such a cutting edge procedure. Blackburn had not only turned her into a freak - he had also turned her into a lab rat.

"There's no reason to be a problem, Miss Granger," said Healer Bussard. He was the specialist Harry contacted while she was in the coma. His reputation for healing curse damage was well known, but what no one had bothered to mention was his atrocious bedside manner.

"I'm not-"

A warm tide swept over her, and she went silent. Even though she recognized what the calming spell was doing to her, she couldn't fight against it. Unlike a potion, she would never build up a resistance to the spell. It was Healer Bussard's favorite way to deal with "problem" patients. He had dropped her into that category from day one…which was how many days ago? Two? Four? They were blurring together because she was constantly drugged.

Everything was surreal, and her mind was foggy and sluggish. Occasionally it occurred to her that she needed to stop Blackburn, that she needed to look over the files Draco had brought her, but the idea would slip away.

Whenever she was sober enough for these ideas to register, she was promptly dosed with a myriad of potions and calming spells. Healer Bussard preferred her sedated. He was in charge of her so-called recovery, and the other healers followed his orders.

"See? There was no reason to shout," he said. His moon-shaped face seemed too chalky white and too round. "We are already done."

Had fifteen minutes passed? She would have guessed two or three. Her inner voice said, _You have to stop them from sedating you!_ But it was only a whisper, one easily ignored, and it drifted off before she could heed its advice.

The healers Levitated Hermione to her new room and positioned her in bed - on her stomach, of course, since Healer Bussard had just attended to her back. She was transferred to the Magical Maladies and Injuries Ward the morning after she woke from the coma.

"Sleep now, Dear," said a woman. "You've been through an ordeal."

Maybe Hermione slept and maybe she didn't. It was becoming difficult to distinguish dream from reality. She thought she had visitors, but she might have imagined it all. They could have been figments of her addled mind, especially since she didn't recognize them.

Before she knew it, she was back in the too-white chamber, splayed on her stomach with Healer Bussard, his team, and the healers gathered in the observation room. Rather than the acidic burning she endured before, the procedure now felt like Bussard had taken a massive cheese grater to her flesh, scraping and scraping…right down to the bone.

Bussard was trying different spells to heal the scarring, a few of which were his own design. Curse scars were notoriously difficult to heal, if not outright impossible, and he had made great strides in his field. Eventually he would determine the best possible combination of spells to reduce the appearance of the scars or cure them altogether. He was experimenting, learning from trial and error; nothing was guaranteed. Yes, Hermione had definitely become a lab rat.

In her room again, splayed on her stomach as before, she could only stare at the ground. Drool leaked from the corner of her mouth, and her face was as blank and slack as a victim of the Imperius Curse.

Two pairs of shoes moved toward her. The voices that followed sounded distorted, as if they were speaking into a tin can.

"This is unacceptable," said Voice 1. It was male and vaguely familiar. "Look at her. She's a vegetable, and she's growing worse by the day."

"Healer Bussard is a specialist," said Voice 2. It was female, also vaguely familiar. "I'm sure whatever he's doing is for the best."

"Except we don't know what he's doing. Why must Hermione be sedated all hours of the day and night? It doesn't make sense."

"It's to help her cope with the painful procedures," said Voice 2.

"There are several highly effective painkillers that would not scramble her brain like this."

Silence for a while.

"If only she could tell us what she wants," said Voice 2.

"That's the problem! She isn't cognizant enough to tell us anything. Bussard has total control, and I don't trust him."

A snort. "You don't trust anyone, Draco."

_Draco_…the name incited an image, that of a handsome blonde wizard…Hermione wanted to see his face to confirm, but raising her head was a challenge. It must have weighed a ton, since she could barely even shift it a hair's breadth.

"Hermione's moving," said Voice 2. She sounded surprised.

As if sensing her intentions, the wizard knelt by Hermione's bed so she could see his face. Pale skin. Gray eyes. Blonde hair that was more white than golden…He reminded her of someone…someone with eyes a darker gray, with a squared chin, with a scar across his neck…But she couldn't remember who he was. Even so, little warm butterflies bounced in her chest.

"Gorgeous," she whispered. He was certainly that. So was the wizard in front of her, the one called Draco, though he wasn't who she was talking about.

His brow furrowed. "You have to talk to Potter. Hermione needs to be sobered up for a while so she can tell us what she wants. She should be in charge of her own recovery."

Later (and who knew how much later?) a woman brought in a present for Hermione. The box was wrapped with glossy, black paper and had a matching bow.

Hermione was actually sitting up, reclining against a tower of pillows. The glossy, black present captured her attention, when before she must have been staring into space. She couldn't really recall what she was doing.

"This is for you. Was just delivered," said the woman. What was her name? Shortcrow? She handed Hermione the box.

Hermione ripped the paper, lifted the lid, and gasped. The knives were beautiful. Sleek and silver and aerodynamic looking.

"They're from the elder Mr. Malfoy," said the woman.

"Who?" Hermione touched one of the cool blades and frowned.

The woman lowered her voice. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Lucius…" Again Hermione saw the man with the dark gray eyes, the squared chin, and the scar across his neck. And again those little warm butterflies danced in her chest. Only this time she saw him kissing her, while her fingers plunged into his silky hair…

"I love him," she said. It was odd declaring something like that when she couldn't even remember who he was. But she knew how she felt.

"There's a letter," said the woman.

Hermione grabbed the parchment and unrolled it. The words were smudged, moving in and out of focus. She squinted and they became clear.

_H_, it read.

_I was informed you lost your dagger. I thought these would be a suitable replacement. Practice your aim while you are in hospital. _

_L_

She looked at the pair of throwing knives, then to the letter, and back again. She picked up one of the knives, testing the weight of it.

"Maybe you shouldn't toy with them right now," said the woman.

But Hermione ignored her. She flicked her wrist and released the knife. It flew through the air and the sharp blade sank into the wall.

"Fun," she said.

More blurry hours (or days?) passed. Hermione was roused by the sound of an argument. The quarrel was muffled through the closed door, but it seemed to be happening directly on the other side.

The door flew open, and in stalked two wizards and the woman, Shortcrow, or whatever her name was. One wizard was the blonde that reminded her of the man who gave her the knives, the other had dark hair and glasses.

"…thought you were being paranoid," said Glasses. "But now that I've seen how Bussard reacted I think you're right about him. Something's off."

"Sober her up," said the blonde. He was speaking to Shortcrow.

"But Healer Bussard hasn't-"

"I don't particularly care what Bussard wants," said Glasses. "Sober her up or I'll explain this situation to the _Daily Prophet_."

Shortcrow hesitated, then withdrew her wand and waved it over Hermione's body…

Hermione could practically feel her synapses firing to life. She blinked as the fuzziness invading her mind dissipated, little by little.

"Harry? Draco?" she asked. It was disorienting. She knew they were standing there all along, but in some way it seemed as if they had just materialized by her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" asked Harry.

"Confused. What's happened?"

"What do you remember?" asked Draco.

Her eyes darted to the box, the one with the throwing knives stowed inside. Had she told Shortbird she loved Lucius?

"I don't know. It was like I was dreaming. How many days have I been in here? After I woke from the coma."

"It's been five days," said Harry. "Healer Bussard has kept you heavily sedated."

She thought of the conversation she overheard between Voice 1 and Voice 2. That had been Draco and Ginny, she now realized. "Don't let them sedate me anymore, Harry. I don't like being so disconnected from reality. The procedures are excruciating, but I can handle it. I want to be me again."

"Has Healer Bussard mistreated you?" asked Draco.

"I don't know. The memories are foggy."

Harry turned to Shortbird. "Should her memories be so muddled now that she's sober? Shouldn't she have better recall than this? What exactly has Bussard been doing to her?"

Hermione searched her mind, trying to bring memories from the last five days to light, and found blank spots. _I can feel the empty space where the missing memories once were, _the reporter, Gareth Gribble, had said. She didn't quite understand what he meant until then.

"Someone's Obliviated me," she said.

In sync, Harry and Draco narrowed their eyes.

xOxOxOx

"You'll recuperate much better at G Place," said Ginny. She was being much too peppy - which meant it was all for show.

"Level with me. What's happened?"

Two days after Hermione realized she was Obliviated, Harry asked her if she would prefer to spend the remainder of her recovery at Grimmauld Place rather than St. Mungo's. Hermione jumped at the chance. She loathed the hospital, and now that someone had tampered with her memories she wasn't safe there.

"Harry and Draco found out some information about Healer Bussard. They discovered he's been accused of using dangerous experimental procedures on his patients without their consent. This could be why he Obliviated you. He didn't want you to remember what he did."

"But there were always people around. Other healers," said Hermione. One thing she did recall vividly was the too-white chamber and the observation room.

"These would have been conducted in private. Probably here in your own room."

Hermione shuddered. He could have done anything to her. "I'm glad I'm leaving."

"So am I. And your new healer checks out. Harry's made sure of it." Ginny whisked her wand and Levitated Hermione out into the corridor. Earlier Ginny had packed up Hermione's things - including the knives - and taken them to Grimmauld Place. "As for Bussard, he's disappeared. After Harry confronted him he left town."

"If it's no secret he's been experimenting on his patients, how is he still practicing legally? Why hasn't his license been revoked?"

"There have been accusations, even a few lawsuits," said Ginny. "But he's managed to keep his license. It's difficult to prove anything, since he's taken away his patient's memories."

"Who recommended Healer Bussard in the first place? Why did Harry contact him?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it was a member of the Wizengamot. To be honest I was so upset by what happened to you I didn't ask too many questions."

Hermione frowned. Could it have been Blackburn?

"And I'm sorry for that," said Ginny. "I wanted to believe Bussard had your best interests at heart. When you were so out of it I should have realized…if it wasn't for Draco…"

Hermione's floating came to a pause at the public Apparition zone. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"You called Draco gorgeous," said Ginny, and laughed. The laugh seemed forced – an attempt to lighten the conversation.

Hermione didn't explain she was actually referring to Lucius.

xOxOxOx

Hermione threw the knives. They shot from her hands and hit the wall. She pried them from the wood and threw them again.

Lucius' letter said to work on her aim. For what reason, she didn't know, but she found practicing her knife throwing skills helped her to think. Normally she would have been pacing or chewing on the end of her quill. This was much more entertaining, and it was mindless enough she could mull over other things.

"You're cutting up the wallpaper," said Draco.

She gave him a small smile as he walked into the room. He stayed out of arm's length, though, as she was preparing to throw the knives again.

The wallpaper was floral, with little blue and yellow flowers on it. She eyed a cluster of blue flowers and threw the knives. They hit way off the mark, but in the last couple of days she had noticed improvement.

"May I see them?" he asked, once she'd pried them from the wall again.

It was odd, but she didn't want to hand them over, even as she did so.

Draco examined them for a moment. "Goblin craftsmanship. Very expensive." He offered them to her, and she took them back. Threw them again. This time she was closer to the cluster of blue flowers, but not by much.

Maybe her aim would improve when she was further along in her recovery. Her arms and hands often throbbed and ached, as did the rest of her.

She could barely stand the sight of her own reflection, but after the painful daily procedures with Healer Coruja she needed proof that healing was occurring. So she forced herself to look.

The scars on her face weren't as red or angry as they were, but the ones on her body were more stubborn. Healer Coruja told her she was lucky she managed to Silence her attacker mid incantation, or the chance of healing the scars would have been next to none.

There _had_ been healing, but it was marginal at best. Hermione still saw a monstrous freak in the looking glass. She wore a glamour over her face and hands whenever she was awake, and robes concealed the rest of her. Her friends certainly didn't want to see the scars, and she didn't want to see the revulsion in their eyes.

"Where did you acquire them?" asked Draco.

"Acquire what?" she asked. She'd lost the thread of the conversation while brooding over the scars.

"The knives." He peered at her much too closely. This was one of his invasive looks, the kind that made her think he had X-ray vision.

She threw the knives again, but harder than the other times. The handles struck the wall, and they clattered against the floor. "I can tell by your expression you already know who gave them to me."

"I recognize them from my Father's collection. He purchased them at an auction when I was a boy."

"He collects knives?" There was much she didn't know about Lucius. Little things. Like his favorite color or the fact that he collected knives. She wanted to know everything about him.

But why? He would never want to be with a scarred freak - that ship had sailed. Grief and rage warred inside her. She ripped the knives from the wall and threw them…now the blades stabbed deeply into the wood, only a few inches from the cluster of blue flowers.

Huh. Maybe if she was angry but focused she would have better aim…

"You don't have to worry about him anymore." She had to fight to sound calm, because that grief welled in her once more. "Do you think he still wants to seduce me? He'd take one look at me and send me away."

_Thwack! _The blades hit the wall, farther from her target than ever before.

"It's for the best," he said.

"I care about him…I think I love him. And now…" She couldn't say, _My heart is breaking_. But it was. "Congratulations. You've gotten what you wanted all along, Draco."

He sighed. "I didn't come here to argue. I thought you might want to discuss the files I left you."

Yes, the files. It would be much better to discuss them. She had been pondering the information she'd learned before his arrival.

"This mysterious manor Ginny and I searched-"

"Deacon Manor," she interjected.

"Is there some connection between it and our killer?"

Hermione wasn't really sure what the connection was.

Deacon Manor was owned by Richard Deacon until his death in the mid nineties. Apparently he, a witch, and another wizard were murdered and their bodies were burned. Following his death, the manor had gone to seed.

Deacon was a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. After he graduated (six years before Hermione's first year) he became the apprentice of a Master portraiture called Lynette Avery. Lynette was a prodigy and had crafted portraits since she was a young child. These were the moving portraits, the ones that were infused with the memories, with the very essences, of their subjects.

These were also the type of portraits that attacked Hermione at Genue Manor.

It was Deacon, Lynette, and her husband, Adam, who were killed.

The only connection between Deacon and Blackburn was that they both had experience with portraits. Deacon was a portraiture's apprentice for several years. And Blackburn could somehow control portraits; he could bring them into the real world and force them to attack.

Hermione had a long discussion about it with Professor Snape's portrait when she visited him the evening prior. As she suspected, the curse had spread to him. He was as unable to speak of Blackburn as Hermione and Lucius were.

In order for this to be achieved Blackburn had to modify the spell to include portraits. Here was another indication Blackburn had experience with them. And the way he'd stepped into the portrait at Genue Manor, carrying Ingrid with him…

Professor Snape theorized Blackburn could travel between portraits, even if they weren't in the same building, since he was human and not made of paint. Portraits could travel from frame to frame, but only if that frame was in the same residence. Severus, for instance, couldn't have traveled to a portrait at Grimmauld Place for their discussion. He could only move to portraits within Hogwarts. A human, however, would not have a similar limitation.

The only exception was if a portrait had a duplicate at another location. Such as the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Phineas Black, who could travel from Grimmauld Place to Hogwarts at whim.

If Blackburn could control portraits and travel amongst them, he literally had thousands of spies, including himself. Theoretically he could hide within any portrait and eavesdrop, or order any portrait to eavesdrop for him. He could also bypass even the most powerful wards, as long as there was a portrait present that he could travel into.

Hermione imagined it as a vast network, or superhighway, leading from portrait to portrait. The magical skill involved was quite impressive.

"I'm not sure what the connection is," said Hermione.

Her first thought was that Deacon and Blackburn were the same person. He could have polyjuiced someone to look like him, so his body would be found. It would be a tidy way of faking his own death.

But when she asked Professor Snape about Richard Deacon, he claimed Deacon did not have any scars like Blackburn. The professor remembered his students rather vividly and would have recalled if Deacon arrived at Hogwarts his first year with pock marks. A boy so young could not have glamoured them.

Moreover, Deacon was never accused of peeping on any of the female students, stealing their knickers, or any other perversions. A young Blackburn would most definitely have engaged in these sorts of behaviors, and living so closely with girls would have been too much of a temptation for him. Eventually someone would have caught him.

That meant Deacon and Blackburn were two different wizards.

But how were they linked? Why did Gareth Gribble have the address to Deacon Manor? He was positive it was a piece of evidence Blackburn failed to destroy, but maybe he was wrong. He was Obliviated at some point; his memory couldn't be trusted. It might be a scrap of evidence pertaining to another story he investigated.

Draco moved over to her desk, where there were piles of parchments and books. He touched one of the books on the tallest stack. "Why are you studying ward-cracking?"

"Why do you think?"

He scowled. "You're in a mood today."

"I'm entitled to be in a mood. I'm a freak, Draco. I'm sure you would be in a mood, too, if your runway model looks were thoroughly destroyed."

Thwack! One blade penetrated the wall, while the other struck handle first and clattered to the floor.

"Coruja will heal you."

"And if she doesn't? I promise, you don't want to see what I look like under these glamours. I'll be forever destined to frighten children and repulse the opposite sex. If you think my love life was pathetic before…" But again she thought of Lucius, of the disgust he would show the instant he saw her true visage, and she trailed off. "Please leave."

"Why?"

"Because you remind me of _him_!" she blurted. She turned away, horrified she had let that slip. Now tears were flowing freely. She stabbed a finger toward the door.

After a pause, she heard Draco's footsteps and the door slam with more force than necessary.

She threw the knives, over and over, until her vision was so blurred by tears she could no longer see her target at all.

xOxOxOx

"Any pain?" asked Healer Coruja. She had just planted Hermione in a chair and began the procedure.

Coruja was one of the most petite women Hermione had ever encountered. Her vividly colored robe was red and yellow and orange silk, and her beaded earrings were so long they brushed against her shoulders.

"I can manage. I think my pain threshold has increased." Even so, Hermione grimaced as Coruja hit her left hand with a healing spell. Lately they had been focusing on the hands and face - the two areas that regular clothing wouldn't conceal.

"How are you coping?"

"I'm angry. All the time. When I'm not angry I'm crying my eyes out. Sometimes I don't even want to crawl out of bed." But she always did crawl out of bed, no matter what state she was in. She refused to wallow. It helped that she had a focus for her rage - Kent Blackburn.

Coruja wasn't a friend exactly, which made it easier to be candid with her. Once the procedures were through Hermione would probably never see the healer again.

"Your impulse will be to push your friends away, but doing so is a mistake. You'll need their support. Anyone in recovery with a strong support system has a better chance of recovering faster, and with better results."

Hermione thought of how she treated Draco the day before. Guilt bubbled in her. Draco was her best mate, and he had been there for her throughout this entire ordeal. If it wasn't for him Healer Bussard might still be experimenting on her and erasing her memories. He deserved respect, not to be used as her own personal punching bag. Draco couldn't help that he strongly resembled his father and thus reminded her of what she had lost.

But it was almost impossible for him _not_ to remind her of Lucius. They were so very much alike, from their appearance, to their demeanors - even their voices at times.

She hissed as another spell struck her cheek. Coruja had finished the hands and moved to Hermione's head.

"You _are_ recovering well," said Coruja. "Don't lose hope, Hermione. There's a good chance we can rid you of the scars."

Hope…it was a word that frightened her. Having hope meant she had something to lose; she might be setting herself up for bitter disappointment. And yet, without hope her recovery could be longer and more difficult.

Hermione hoped the scars would fade well enough that she could lead a relatively normal life. She could still be an Auror. She could stroll through Hogsmeade without anyone gawking at her monstrousness too much. As for lovers…well, those would probably be few and far between, but she was accustomed to that.

She never, ever allowed herself to hope she would heal well enough to attract Lucius. That was one disappointment she refused to set herself up for.

xOxOxOx

Hermione nibbled the end of her quill. The sketch certainly wasn't a masterpiece, but it did depict Lucius's hideous ring with as much precision as her memory allowed. She even bespelled the drawing so the amber eye darted back and forth, as it tended to do.

She then penned a letter to a magical artifacts expert she consulted a few years back. He had helped with one of her cases. _Please identify the ring and its uses_, she wrote. There had to be a reason the ring was so prominently featured in Lucius's memories, and the expert could help her determine why.

Hermione asked Lucius about the ring before, and he was the opposite of forthcoming. Contacting him and asking him again was a logical solution, but she planned to stay as far away from him as possible. Completely cutting him out of her life was the smartest route to take. Even if she was to visit him wearing glamours, she would know what was hidden beneath. No, it would be wise to keep her distance.

That would be a bit more difficult in two days, however, when he was released from Azkaban. Lucius would be free - and she had been mutilated by a psychopath.

Lucius would probably travel, as he said he would, and maybe then, if he was out of the country, she wouldn't be so tempted to think of him, a free man so near...just within her grasp but slipping through her fingers…

It was dysfunctional to be obsessed with a wizard she could never have. At least she was able to distract herself by studying the ward-cracking books. She had a plan, and she wouldn't ask Ginny or any other ward-cracker to help her do something illegal.

She had been learning about wards since she moved from St. Mungo's to Grimmauld Place. Ward-cracking was a complex business, but with time and practice she would learn enough to crack through Blackburn's undetected.

First she needed to know what wards surrounded Blackburn Manor, which required her to examine them in person.

She would be ready tomorrow night.

xOxOxOx

Hermione wiped sweat from her brow and scowled. She hadn't dueled in weeks, and it showed. Harry had been easy on her, and she still failed miserably.

Her body ached and throbbed, thanks to the scars, but not as much as before. She should have been able to perform much better than she did. She was coated in perspiration, and Harry looked as if he could run a marathon.

"Another round?" she asked.

"Have to return to the office," he said, after casting a _Tempus_. "But before I leave I want to know what you're planning."

"I'm not planning anything," she lied.

He chuckled. "Sure you aren't. Whatever it is, can't it wait? You were recently in a coma, and you're recuperating from a Dark curse. You're not at a hundred percent yet."

"Are you saying you won't let me return to work tomorrow?" Earlier he gave her permission, and now it seemed he doubted her abilities.

"Like I said before, you won't be allowed in the field."

She had been given the desk job she always knew she would hate, but it was a relief rather than a burden. Some semblance of normality would help her state of mind.

"Just be careful, whatever you're planning to do," he said. Normally he might have touched her hand or pecked her forehead before leaving, but since her disfigurement he hadn't touched her once. It was probably out of respect; he understood she didn't want him to feel the scars. _She_ didn't even want to feel them, and they were on her body.

xOxOxOx

The night was chilly, and the icy breeze wasn't helping matters. There also wasn't much of a moon to speak of, what with it waning and the cloud cover. She couldn't risk casting a _Lumos_, though, so she had to work under dim conditions.

The garden was but a series of dark shapes, but when she searched she saw two, bone white gravestones. They were the only objects in the garden that were easy to spot - as if they were saying, _Come over here! Rob the graves we mark!_

And she intended to do just that.

If she exhumed the dead Kneazles and sent them to Draco he would remember their conversation after visiting Blackburn Manor. She mentioned that if the Kneazles had traces of Compulsion in their systems it would link Blackburn to the potion.

The proof was circumstantial, (anyone could have poisoned the animals) but it would propel Draco to point the investigation in Blackburn's direction. Granted, she had already told him she suspected Blackburn, but a solid piece of evidence would spur Draco to focus on him more vigorously than before. It might even spur Shacklebolt to allow the division to properly investigate him.

Obtaining the Kneazles through an illegal search and seizure meant they could not be used against Blackburn in court, but surely Draco and the others could build a case without them. Eventually Blackburn would make a mistake, and if the division was watching him closely enough he would implicate himself.

_I could always kill him_, she thought. This thought no longer disturbed her, as she'd been thinking it quite often of late. Whether it was merely a fantasy or something she was actually capable of was a good question.

He had killed several people and abducted Dean and Ingrid. He silenced Hermione with one spell and mutilated her with another. And he had taken Lucius away from her. How much more could she suffer before she snapped and sought revenge?

She shoved thoughts of vengeance aside and pointed her wand at the wards. Her brows rose when she realized the wards surrounding the garden could be easily cracked. Even she, with little experience, could do it. Frowning now, she pointed her wand at the wards surrounding the manor. These were quite powerful and would not be simple for a novice to bypass.

Why two different warding systems? Normally only one system of wards protected both house and nearby lands. Hermione tapped a finger against her wand and considered the conundrum. There had to be a reason for this, but what?

Another gust of icy wind blew her hair into her eyes, and she wished she had pinned it back. She swept her hair away and searched for an explanation. Whatever she decided to do, she needed to do it soon. She couldn't lollygag around Blackburn Manor all night.

Eventually she decided it didn't matter why there were two warding systems. The manor itself was protected by formidable wards; the garden wasn't as much of a security risk.

Quickly she dissolved an area of the wards, creating a hole she could enter and exit through without triggering any alarms. She slipped through the aperture and crept through the garden. Most of the plants were hibernating for the winter, but there were clusters of Crocuses here and there.

When Hermione was close enough, she looked at the nearby manor windows. Fawn Blackburn spent much time in her studio, and it wouldn't do for her to see someone digging up a couple of graves. Hermione was Disillusioned, but flying dirt could be seen. Thankfully the windows were dark.

Hermione stopped before the stone with the name _Titan_ engraved on the front, and began to remove soil from the grave with a spell. This was one good thing about being a witch - she didn't need a shovel.

The hole was fairly deep when she uncovered a metal box. It was long and rectangular, and was large enough for a Kneazle to fit inside. She Summoned the box and opened it.

There was no Kneazle, but there was something else.

Her stomach leaped to her throat, and she glanced around. The night was quiet, and windy, and if someone was watching her he was not revealed by the series of spells she cast. Satisfied that she was alone, she retrieved the parchment from the metal box. The paper crinkled as she unfolded it, but there wasn't enough light to read it.

She turned her back to the manor and whispered, "_Lumos_." Her wand tip alit, illuminating the message with a blue glow.

_If you have found this, Miss Granger, your life as you know it is now destroyed. I must defend myself, after all. _

The message wasn't signed, but no signature was necessary. She was able to read it twice before it burst into flames, reduced to nothing more than a pile of grayish ash.

xOxOxOx

Hermione couldn't remember the nightmares, only the intense dread they provoked. That dread lingered with her long after waking.

She should have known this was a bad sign.

Instead she did her best to ignore the dread and prepared for her first day at work since her disfigurement. She dressed, ran a brush through her hair, and cast glamours to cover her face, neck, and hands. After a hesitation, she slipped the throwing knives into her jacket. They gave her a secure feeling, and foolishly, they made her feel connected to Lucius.

As she made her way into the Ministry building, she noticed people staring. Some were outright glaring at her, while others whispered and pointed. It dawned on her that she might have incorrectly performed the glamours and her scars were on display. Hermione rushed to a lift, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the car was empty, and pressed the appropriate button. She checked her reflection in her two-way mirror. The glamours were fine; she looked like regular old Hermione.

Then why the glaring? Why the whispers? If she didn't know better, she might have said those people hated her. Befuddled, she stepped out of the lift and entered the Auror division. The maze of cubicles stretched out before her. Usually the place was bustling with activity, but now, everyone in attendance had gone silent and motionless, and all glared at her. Hostility blazed in their eyes and molded their expressions.

She stared right back at them, wondering what in the hell was happening. Hermione wasn't the most popular Auror by any stretch of the imagination, but this…this was loathing. This was hatred.

No one said anything, so she cut through the crowd, making sure to keep her head raised and her shoulders squared. Whatever this was, Harry would know.

Everyone she passed reacted similarly. And some of them, especially the Aurors who were closest to Terry Boot, looked as if they wanted to curse her - or maybe rip her apart with their bare hands.

She found Harry in his office, standing by his window. His head swiveled in her direction very slowly, and his mien betrayed a mixture of things. Anger was one. Frustration another. And disappointment?

"What is it?" she asked.

"Look at the front page," he said in a clipped tone, and gestured to the _Daily Prophet _on his desk.

From her vantage point she couldn't see the front page of the newspaper. A few steps was all it took, and the massive photograph was revealed. She gasped and cupped her mouth, her eyes widening as far as they could go.

It was a photo of her and Lucius, taken in his cell the last time she visited. Lucius was atop her, and they were snogging the daylights out of each other.


	15. The Gauntlet

_I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters._

_Reviews and alerts make me smile and do a happy dance! Thank you all._

_I was up practically at the crack of dawn today and decided to post this chappie. Hope you enjoy!_

Chapter Fifteen

The Gauntlet

The photograph - which almost covered the entire front page of the _Daily Prophet_ - depicted Lucius and Hermione in profile. There was no question those profiles belonged to them. There was also no question they were about to shag…and probably would have if Blackburn hadn't triggered the alarm at Genue Manor.

How had this picture been taken without either Hermione or Lucius noticing? Someone had sneaked into his cell while they were mid-snog and snapped it.

Only a guard or another Auror had access. That didn't limit the field much, considering how many enemies Lucius had. Enemies Hermione had inherited, judging by the manner in which her colleagues were treating her.

"I want to believe this is a manipulated photo, but I don't think it is," said Harry. He dropped into his desk chair and plucked off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose.

She would have liked nothing more than to flee, but she forced herself to remain where she was. The truth had been exposed and she couldn't run away from it, no matter how much she would have loved to.

What would Harry say next? What would Draco and Ginny say? And Ron…he would probably have a cardiac arrest when he saw the photo. Shacklebolt was also a consideration. Besides Harry, he was the wizard who could most easily destroy her career. The dread provoked by her nightmares returned, only now it was sparked by real life events.

And then she thought of Lucius and how she had literally been grieving over a relationship that could never be. If he burst into Harry's office that moment and told her he wanted her, scars and all, she would accept. She wouldn't care if her colleagues glared or whispered; she wouldn't care if her friends didn't approve. It was moot now, as Lucius would no longer want her, but the consequences he spoke of were coming to fruition anyway.

Hermione straightened her back. "The photograph isn't manipulated. That's me."

"This is wrong on many levels," said Harry, and she nearly jolted. Those were almost the exact words Lucius said to Claudia about their relationship. If Harry wasn't such a terrible Legilimens she would have wondered if he was digging around in her mind.

"How? I'm a grown woman, Harry." She nearly added, _I can shag whoever I want_, but thought it might sound inappropriate at work. Then again, that massive photograph was verging on pornography. Their clothes were on, and they were only kissing, but the intention was quite obvious. Lucius was about to pound her into the mattress.

That was something she would never have a chance to experience. Could her guts twist anymore, after all the twisting they'd already done? Yes. She had just proved it.

"Do you not see the political ramifications?" asked Harry.

Her brows lifted. Had Harry just said _political ramifications_?

"Not to mention the threat to your safety. You do realize Lucius will be released today at noon. There's already an angry mob gathered around Azkaban, waiting for him to appear. All they need are torches and pitchforks."

"What?" This shouldn't have been a surprise. When Lucius was given a prison sentence rather than executed, there had been a riot. But she _was_ surprised. It hadn't even occurred to her that a mob would be awaiting Lucius when he emerged from prison.

"Page two," said Harry.

Hermione flipped the page and saw a photograph taken earlier in the morning. Dozens of witches and wizards were crowded at Azkaban. They clearly did not intend to ask Lucius for tea.

"Who will protect him?" she asked. This mob, and mob was a perfect description, would kill him if they could. There was no doubt in her mind after looking at their grim, determined faces. And the hate…so like the hate her colleagues aimed at her earlier.

"Who will protect _you_?" Harry snapped. He rarely snapped at her anymore. That phase had passed once his teenage hormones were finally under control.

Answering would have been nice, but she was interrupted when Shacklebolt entered Harry's office. He hadn't even bothered to knock. He carried his own copy of the _Daily __Prophet_, and his cheek ticked when he spotted Hermione. "I can only hope you were bespelled or dosed with a lust potion. To do something like this!" He slammed the paper to Harry's desk, and the nearby ink wells clinked together.

"It's my personal life. I can't help that it's been published for all to see."

"You have two options. You can either denounce Lucius, or you can pack up your desk. I don't care how you spin it. You can say you were bespelled or dosed with a lust potion. But whatever you decide to say, you need to decide quickly. I plan to arrange a press conference before Mr. Malfoy is released."

"Why should I make a statement at all?"

"Because you are an Auror, and you were photographed consorting with the enemy."

"There is no longer an enemy," she said. "The war has been over for years."

Shacklebolt jabbed a finger at the photograph of the mob gathered at the prison. "To these people there is still an enemy. And Lucius is it."

She had once thought of Lucius as a lightning rod for public hatred. Now she was about to be struck by that lightning.

"I won't lie. That is me in the photograph. I wasn't bespelled or dosed with any potion."

"If you wish to have a career, you will have to."

"Hermione, it should be a simple decision to make. Lying isn't right, but you'll lose your job. Unless you -" But Harry cut himself off, and his gaze sharpened. _Unless you love him_, he'd almost said. He blinked thrice in quick succession as realization dawned.

"Mr. Potter is correct. I will be forced to sack you unless you cooperate," said Shacklebolt. "You've tarnished the Ministry's image, and no one will trust your judgment any longer. Your own colleagues are demanding I sack you, and I've received howlers demanding the same. This was the wrong time for this photograph to be published. The public is already up in arms about Lucius Malfoy due to his impending release. You've added fuel to the fire."

She glanced at Harry, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. He would offer no help, but really, there was nothing he could do. The Minister of Magic, as well as the Wizengamot, had sealed her fate. Unless, of course, she went to that press conference and lied.

She was disfigured, and now she was about to be sacked. Too many things were happening at once, and she needed something to ground her. Usually her job grounded her when other areas of her life were pear shaped, but that wasn't an option now.

It would be simple, as Harry pointed out. They could concoct a plausible fabrication and she could tell it to the world. And maybe, if she was lucky, she would still have her job.

A part of her - that part that was a workaholic, that part that considered her career her life - advised her to take Shacklebolt's deal. _You're about to lose everything_, it said. _And __because of your scars you won't even have the man you sacrificed it all for._

But she couldn't denounce Lucius any more than she could denounce Harry or Ginny or Draco. It would hurt him. And even if that was her own conceit talking, and he wouldn't care either way, it would still be wrong.

More than anything, though, she wasn't ashamed of the photograph or how she felt about him. And lying to everyone, claiming she was bespelled or dosed with a potion, would make it seem as if she was.

"What are you going to do?" asked Harry.

"I won't lie. And I won't speak at any press conference."

Shacklebolt seemed relieved. To him she was a political liability, and he probably wanted to end things now before his chances of reelection were further marred by association. She was at the heart of a scandal, and he wanted to distance himself from it. "You have ten minutes to clear your desk and leave the building. For your own safety. They're out for blood, Miss Granger."

Minister Shacklebolt then strode out of the office, his robe swirling at his feet. They had fought in a war together. She was one of his top investigators for almost a decade. And those were his last words to her.

"I'll escort you to your desk," said Harry.

No one would dare confront her with Harry present. She could defend herself, but she didn't want to deal with it. So she welcomed his company.

Hermione ignored the glowers and whispers, but she felt as if she was walking a gauntlet. When she entered her cubicle, she gasped. Written on the wall in a red scrawl were the words: DEATH EATER SLUT.

Harry dropped a palm to the small of her back. It was a gesture of comfort, despite the fact that he didn't agree with her choices. It was also the first time he touched her since the disfigurement. Her throat clenched and she wanted to cry - but she would not cry. Not here. Her tears would only give them what they wanted.

"_Pack_," she said. Everything from atop her desk and within the drawers flew into a box she always stored at the corner of her cubicle. She retrieved the box, holding it tightly to her chest like it would shield her from the enmity she would soon face, and steeled herself to walk the gauntlet again.

But Harry erected a series of privacy wards and blocked her path. "Why are you doing this?"

"Remember how you used to feel about Professor Snape until you saw his memories? I've seen Lucius's memories, and the same thing happened to me." Harry knew a little, because Hermione told Ginny a little. But Hermione would no longer share Lucius's secrets. "He's no saint, but there is good in him."

Harry had gone from rubbing the bridge of his nose to rubbing his lightning bolt scar. "He nearly killed Ginny. He would have killed all of us at the Department of Mysteries."

"I'm aware of his record," she said, a bit more sharply than she meant to. "But does he deserve to be ripped apart by an angry mob?"

"I've arranged for Aurors to guard him when he leaves the prison. They will remain professional and do their jobs."

"I witnessed what your professional Aurors did to Lucius. They stood around and watched Terry Boot beat him to a pulp. They enjoyed it! No one is on his side except me - everyone wants him dead. Lucius needs real protection."

"You have to leave," said Harry. "Shacklebolt said ten minutes. Do you want me to escort you out?"

Hermione gripped the box even tighter. "I'll be fine. I doubt anyone will actually try anything. They might call me names, but I can handle that."

There was another reason she didn't want Harry watching over her while she left the building. She needed to make an important stop at cold cases. This was her last opportunity to pull any files that matched Blackburn's MO. If he had past victims that weren't yet linked to him, she could find them. Furthermore, she might learn something that would help her prove what a psychopath he really was.

What she needed was hard evidence. Something, like the dead Kneazles, that wouldn't require her to communicate what she knew, since the curse Blackburn used on her wouldn't allow her to simply tell anyone.

Her only other option was to ask Draco to copy the files for her, and she doubted, after seeing the photograph, that he would want to help. And it would be illegal for him to procure Ministry files for her anyhow. She was no longer an Auror.

"Good-bye, Harry," she said. But really, she was saying good-bye to her former life.

Again her throat tightened as she walked the gauntlet. A few slurs were thrown her way, and the staring and whispering continued, but no one directly confronted her.

All it would take was one person to change the situation. That was the mob mentality. If just one person hexed her, others would follow suit. From there things could spin out of control.

She followed the corridor to cold cases. Here it was quieter, and there was no one about. It was a brief respite, she knew, but she appreciated it.

Mr. Butterfield was asleep in his chair when she approached, his bulldog jowls quivering as he snored. When she first met him he amused her; he was such a stubborn old man, with a dry sense of humor. But circumstances had changed. Hermione couldn't perform any spells on the files or an alarm would sound. She had to convince the old wizard to perform the spell she needed, and she didn't have time to finesse him.

Hermione grabbed his shoulder and shook. He sputtered, and his lids came open. She shoved her wand against his neck. "I don't want to do this, but I have no choice. I have a spell I want you to use on the files."

"You're the one shagging the Death Eater," he said. He didn't seem too upset her wand was pressing against his neck. "I'm sure Shacklebolt sacked you. You can't legally look through any of my files."

"I will show you the wand movements and the incantation," she said.

"Show away. I'm not doing it."

"There is a dangerous killer out there and I mean to catch him. Your files will help me do that. I'm running out of patience, Mr. Butterfield. Either perform the spell or I will have to force you."

"That would be a foolish move, Hermione."

Hermione scowled at the sound of Harry's voice. "How did you find me?"

"I followed you. I wanted to make sure you left the building safely."

"Do you plan to help me, or do you plan to stop me?" she asked.

She heard Harry moving nearer, and he paused when he was on the other side of Butterfield's chair, directly in her line of sight. "You should leave before you do something you regret."

If Shacklebolt learned she was in cold cases, attempting to force Butterfield to pull specific files for her, she would be slapped with several criminal charges. If that happened she couldn't ask Harry to cover it up. He had sworn to uphold the law.

"I can help catch the killer," she said, but she pulled her wand away from Butterfield's neck. "All I need are the files."

"You aren't an Auror. It's no longer your job to catch him." This was said with compassion, but it stung nonetheless.

"Then find the files that have a specific MO. The victims will probably be blonde, in their late teens or early twenties, and their bodies will be left for others to find. It would also help to pull files where women with a similar description complained someone was peeping on them. Talk to Draco."

"I promise to look into it," he said. "But you need to leave. I will see you out."

It was tempting to stun Harry, force Butterfield to retrieve the files, Obliviate them both, and make an escape. She was prepared to do that to Butterfield, but she couldn't do something like that to Harry.

"Damn it," she said, as he guided her out of the file room.

xOxOxOx

The mob had grown since the photograph was published in the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Hermione didn't do a head count, but she guessed there had to be at least a hundred witches and wizards in attendance.

Harry was right when he said all they needed were torches and pitchforks. The crowd was volatile - one simple act could tip them over the edge. That simple act might occur the instant Lucius emerged from the prison.

Hermione moved through the throng, heavily glamoured to look like a wizard. She used Neville as inspiration when crafting the glamour and was therefore a bit pudgy and nondescript. Keeping her normal appearance would have been practically suicidal - if the crowd saw Hermione Granger they would focus their rage onto her.

Several people were holding the newest copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She saw the photograph of her and Lucius snogging in nearly every direction. Even those holding newspapers were also holding their wands. Very few people didn't have their wands at the ready.

She spotted a handful of Aurors, but Harry wasn't among them. Either he was glamoured as well or he had not come. She also didn't see Draco. Maybe he, too, was in disguise, or maybe he despised Lucius so much he didn't care what happened to him.

"…deserves to be executed for what he did to my brother…" said a man.

"…should have gotten the Kiss…" said another.

"I would gladly kill him with my bare hands…" said a witch.

Hermione tuned out these scraps of conversations and stopped at the front of the crowd. Here were the Azkaban guards. Whenever anyone tried to slip closer to the entrance, the guards intervened and sent them back.

The front gates swung inward. The crowd pushed forward, nearly knocking Hermione off her feet. She managed to keep her balance and elbowed her way through the crowd once more. Everyone was shouting, and the din was almost deafening.

Hermione reached the front row and planted her feet hip width apart in case the crowd surged a second time. Her palm was sweaty and slick against her wand.

Her eyes narrowed when Lucius appeared. He had no escort! Not one guard or Auror was at his side.

He was in his black robe with the high neck, and his blonde hair shone in the sunlight. His demeanor was typical Malfoy - haughty and confident. He paused to stare at the spectacle before him, and the tiniest of smirks curled his lips. He seemed to be saying, _Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot. _

Everything froze as if time itself had stopped. No one moved, and the shouting had even dwindled to silence. The tension made prickles dance on the back of Hermione's neck.

Then Lucius began to walk, and the moment shattered. The shouting returned, at an even greater volume. The crowd surged again, like it was one entity with hundreds of arms and legs. A few people spit on him, but he had erected a shield, and the saliva merely dripped down the side of the invisible barrier. Meanwhile, the mob charged closer and closer, but the Aurors and the guards were doing nothing to prevent it.

Lucius didn't so much as flinch or pick up his pace. He continued to stride forward, and despite the circumstances, looked quite imposing.

Hermione eyed the crowd as well as she could, and saw a wizard quickly shoving his way through. When he reached the front of the mob, his wand lifted-

"Lucius!" Hermione cried.

Green light shot from the wizard's wand, but Lucius had ducked. The Killing Curse flew over his head and into the ether.

There was more shouting now, but of a different kind. People began running in all directions, pushing each other to the ground and trampling one another.

The wizard raised his wand again - where were the Aurors? Lucius also had wand poised, but if he so much as hexed anyone he would be thrown back into Azkaban. Shacklebolt and his cronies wouldn't hesitate; all they needed was an excuse.

"_Stupefy_," she said, but the spell struck a witch who inadvertently ran in the way. She collapsed, and the wizard swiveled in Hermione's direction, preparing to fire...

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione repeated, and this time the spell hit the target. The wizard went down, instantly unconscious, and the glamour about him dissolved. Now there was an elderly woman with gray hair where the wizard once was.

_Pearl_. It was Pearl, the grandmotherly guard. Rage boiled in Hermione. Had Pearl also snapped the photograph?

Hermione was suddenly pulled into someone's arms, and a Side-Along followed before she could react. She materialized in a familiar place - the receiving room at Malfoy Manor.

Lucius had yet to stop hugging her.

"Drop the glamour, if you please," he said. "I know you're under there, but I do not want to cuddle with a wizard. I much prefer witches."

She met his gaze. There was that devilish cast she recognized. "Is this all a joke to you?"

"No, Love. I expected that sort of reception. I was not certain if you would be there, however. Not after the photograph in the _Daily Prophet_."

Her mouth flopped open; he had called her _Love_. Warmth filled her, but on its heels came a twisting of grief. It didn't matter what he called her - she was a freak. She yanked away from him and turned her back, switching from one glamour to another. Now she looked like regular old Hermione, the one without scars.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"I recognized your voice when you called my name." He sounded further away now. She turned and saw him sitting rather elegantly on the sofa. He moved his wand, and a carafe of firewhisky and two glasses soared to him. "Were you sacked?"

"Yes."

Something flickered in his eyes, but she couldn't identify it before it disappeared. He gestured to the sofa opposite. "Make yourself comfortable. I would like to speak to you."

Being in his presence was a form of torture, knowing how he would react if he saw her true appearance. But it was so wonderful to be near him again…even if she could only look and not touch. Besides, she was curious what he wished to speak to her about. She settled on the sofa opposite and took the glass of whiskey he Levitated to her.

"Did Shacklebolt offer you a deal?"

"If I denounced you I could keep my position." She stared at the whiskey for a second before downing it in one gulp. Apparently she still knew how to drink. She placed the glass on the table between them, and Lucius refilled it.

"Why didn't you denounce me? You could have saved your career and your reputation."

"I'm not a liar," she said. That of course, wasn't the whole truth, which was kind of ironic, actually. Omitting certain facts was still lying.

She felt him appraising her, but she didn't look at him. Instead she stared at the whiskey.

"There is more," he said, after a brief silence. "Tell me what it is."

Her fingers tightened around the glass. "There's no point in going down this road, Lucius."

"Why? Because of your scars?"

She dropped the glass to the table, and whiskey sloshed out. "I have to leave," she said, and pounced to her feet.

_Coward_, said her inner voice. And she _was_ being a coward, running instead of facing Lucius. She prepared to Disapparate, as the wards at the manor were probably still keyed to her…

"I do not want you to leave," said Lucius. "I want you to sit down and listen to me."

"Whatever you mean to say…I don't want to hear it. Don't do this to me." The last part was a raw series of sounds. She hadn't bothered to hide her pain.

"What do you imagine I mean to say, Love?"

"Don't call me that," she snapped. It was like a kick to the gut, every time she heard it. Because she knew what would happen if he ever saw her without the glamours.

"Sit," he said.

"I'm not your dog, Lucius."

"Do not make me force you," he warned.

Hermione nearly shivered, but not because she was afraid. No, he was using that dangerous tone, the one that made arousal shoot from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

"Don't use that voice on me," she said.

"Why not? You respond most favorably to it. Your heart rate increases, your pupils dilate…"

Those were two signposts of arousal, of which he was most definitely aware.

"Stop toying with me. And stop bossing me around."

"Do you think I will let you walk out without discussing this?"

She snorted. "You're the man and you want to talk about our relationship?"

His face went hard, and she nearly shivered again. He had reminded her of the Death Eater he once was, and she was so twisted it turned her on. "If you wish to have nothing to do with me, then why not denounce me?"

What did he want from her? An admission that she was in love with him? An admission that she was terrified of how he would react when he saw the scars?

"Why are you doing this?"

"I want full disclosure."

"That will never happen." She tried to Disapparate then, but like at Genue Manor she felt as if she was pressing against a brick wall. Either Lucius or Draco had tweaked the wards; she was no longer keyed into them. "Let me go."

"No. I would like you to sit."

She glared at him. "Are you prepared to hold me here against my will?"

"If I must."

They began to engage in a staring contest. She refused to be the first to look away, and he refused to be the first to look away. Though she appeared to be as angry as she felt, he had the air of a man who expected to get what he wanted.

"Damn it, Lucius," she said, and her eyes darted away from his.

"All I ask is that we speak. Then you may leave."

"You are a controlling, manipulative, pigheaded arse."

His lips twitched at the corners. "That is true. And that does not change anything. You have ten seconds to start talking, or I will cast a spell that will make you talk."

Her anger fizzled over. "Fine! You want the truth, here it is. I'm in love with you, which is completely stupid, because _you_ _are_ _an arse_. I should have denounced you, but I couldn't do it, even to save my career, which defined my entire adult life. I risked everything for you, and that was stupid, too, because there's no way you could ever want me, not with these scars."

The anger made her say too much, but the words had spilled out. _Precisely as he wanted_, she thought, when that devilishness gleamed in his eyes again. He had purposely enraged her, suspecting she would tell him everything if he did so.

"You bastard," she said. But the anger had deflated, and she was only tired. Exhausted, really.

His lips twitched like they had before. He seemed to want to smile any time she called him a name. That was interesting…and a little weird.

"Are you through, Love? Because I would like to retort."

_Don't call me that_, she nearly said, but instead she sighed and sat down. If she didn't acquiesce to his demands they would end up arguing, and maybe for hours considering how stubborn they both were. And she believed him when he said he would let her leave when their discussion was through.

"Talk," she said. She grabbed the glass of whiskey from the table. The sides were slick from the contents sloshing out, but she didn't care. She gulped until the glass was empty.

He leaned forward, looking very serious. "Drop the glamour."

"No." Her hand shook a little as she put the glass back on the table.

"I have seen curse scars before, and from what I was told you Silenced him before he could verbally finish the spell."

"You've been told a lot."

"I have contacts at St. Mungo's. Did you really think I would not keep a watchful eye on you?"

"You've been watching me?" It was a violation, in a fashion, but she was also flattered.

"If you think I will be disgusted, you are mistaken."

Oh, how she wanted to believe that. But he _would_ be disgusted - and what wizard would want to shag a disfigured witch?

"I'm not dropping this glamour."

"Then I have no other recourse." His wand slashed through the air…and her skin tingled as the glamour vanished.


	16. Downward Spiral

_I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters._

_As always, thanks for the reviews and alerts. Hugs to you all!  
_

_More angst...and from here on out this fic becomes darker and darker...  
_

Chapter Sixteen

Downward Spiral

Hermione had envisioned something like this happening - that someone might dissolve her glamour to see her true visage. Granted, she never thought it would be Lucius...

Whenever she envisioned it, she thought her impulse would be to cover her face with her hands, or maybe quickly recast the glamour. She didn't think she would stand there, stupidly frozen in place, as eyes crawled over her.

She flinched when it sank in that _Lucius's_ eyes were crawling over her. He was the last person in the world she wanted to see the scars. Yet he hadn't jolted with disgust or showed any sign that she repulsed him. His expression and body language didn't change at all.

"These can be healed," he said. "They are not as serious as I was led to believe."

The sound of his voice - that luscious purr, tinged with something gentle - snapped her out of it. She swiftly recast the glamour. "Don't you ever do that again_. Petrificus Totalus._"

His arms and legs locked, and his whiskey fell to his robe, soaking the black fabric. He was rendered immobile, but his gray eyes blazed with anger.

"Maybe I have given you a mistaken impression. I'm not the sort of witch that will let you control me, no matter how gorgeous or charming or wealthy you are. I have boundaries, and you just crossed one of them." She snatched floo powder from the canister on the fireplace mantle. "Good-bye, Lucius." The powder struck the flames, and they flared green as she announced her destination.

xOxOxOx

Her wards chimed. That chime…it had been sounding for a while now, but she wasn't paying attention.

The chiming alerted her that someone was at her front door, but she had no intention of answering, even if it sounded in her head all night. She was in her memory cache, peering at the destruction.

Someone had broken every single memory she ever collected. The silvery liquid was splattered everywhere, from the ceiling to the floor.

And that wasn't all. Someone had burned her research. Years and years of research…nothing but ash. Hermione had not thought to make copies and stow them elsewhere. Why should she have? She never believed someone would do this.

Hermione referred to the culprit as _someone_, but she knew who it was. Blackburn might have hired another person to do it, but he was still the one to blame.

As for the photograph in the _Prophet_, he was probably responsible for that as well. He most likely bribed a guard or an Auror to take the picture. Lucius believed Blackburn was spying on her before he even killed Morta, which meant he could have had lackeys snapping photos of her for an extended period of time, just waiting for her to do something that would ruin her reputation.

Blackburn's message promised to destroy her life. It would be a major coincidence if the photograph was published the day after she received that message and he wasn't responsible, particularly since she was sacked.

She had lost everything that was important to her. Her quality of life thanks to the disfigurement. Her reputation. Her career. Years of research. Possibly her friends. And Lucius.

Something inside her was stretched taut, so taut that it would soon crack.

The chiming continued.

And continued.

And continued.

Finally…silence.

xOxOxOx

When Hermione woke, she was embracing an empty bottle of firewhiskey as if it was a lover. And when she scanned her memory for images from the night prior, there was nothing. She had blacked out from too much alcohol. Again.

She grimaced as her head and stomach simultaneously rebelled. Clumsily, she searched for her wand, finding it beneath her pillow. At least she wasn't so plastered she forgot to put it there.

It took her three attempts to Summon the potion she desperately required. She gagged as she chugged it. No matter how many times the foul flavor assaulted her taste buds, she would never grow used to it, but she would rather gag a little than cope with a horrendous hang-over.

This reminded Hermione of her early days as an Auror. Drinking too much. Blacking out. Rousing to discover a complete stranger in bed with her…only now there was no stranger, thank Merlin. The mistakes she made while living this way had taught her a lesson - not to drink to excess - but apparently that lesson had been thrown to the wayside.

_You're wallowing. _That inner voice sounded suspiciously like Draco. Exactly when had he become a symbol of reason for her?_ This is the beginning of a downward spiral. You have to snap out of it, Granger._

"I'm already in a downward spiral," she said, as she stumbled out of her bedroom. It would take a few minutes for the potion to kick in.

_Remember what Healer Caruja said. You need a support system to aid your recovery. Call your friends. Stop being such a bloody coward. _

"Shut it, Draco."

Luckily this inner dialogue was interrupted by the din of multiple _tap, tap, taps_ on her window.

How many owls were there? Twenty? Thirty? She couldn't really tell because they seemed to be one mass of wings and feathers and beaks hovering on the other side of the glass. She might have heard the tapping if she hadn't cast a silencing charm on her bedroom at some point last night, although she couldn't recall doing it.

If she didn't accept the letters the owls would hover there forever, and more owls would arrive until she had dozens of them piling up. She had no choice but to open the window.

In streamed the owls, one after another. Some dropped their letters and flew away again. Others had letters that were tied to their legs and she had to remove them herself. Within ten minutes she had an impressive pile of hate mail.

Howlers once exploded if left unread for too long, but that sometimes wounded owls so the standard changed. Now they wouldn't be on their way to exploding until a human contacted them. So many of them floated in the air, shrieking and shouting slurs about the photograph with Lucius, that a spike of pain bolted through her skull.

Hopefully the potion would work its magic soon.

In self-defense, she _Incendio_'d all the Howlers, and after a groggy perusal _Incendio_'d the other missives as well. They were as nasty as the Howlers, albeit it much quieter.

She once read of a particular type of ward that would destroy any letters considered hostile. She really needed to look into it, so she would no longer have to deal with hate mail.

_You have been hiding at home for five days, Love. Don't you think it is time to do something constructive? _

This was Lucius's voice, of course. It sounded so real he could have been whispering in her ear. First Draco was in her head and now Lucius.

_You're going mad._

That was her voice for a change.

Hermione decided to ignore all the voices and made sure her home was secure. Wards firmly in place, keyed to allow no one entrance. Check. Floos shut. Check. A quick scan of her yard. Check. The reporters were still there, but she wasn't sure what they were waiting for. Maybe they expected her to grow angry, charge out, and make a scene, one worthy enough for the front page.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Her wards were formidable enough the vultures had to remain at a distance, and all she had to do was shut the blinds so she wouldn't have to look at them.

_You don't have to be alone. _This sounded like Ginny_. Maybe your friends have tried to contact you. Maybe you should give them a chance. Why do you refuse to believe they might support you?_

"Because if I hope, and I'm wrong…I can't take another blow. I'm on the edge enough as it is," said Hermione.

Yes, that tautness was still inside her, that thing that was on the verge of cracking. If her friends rejected her, it would be too much.

_So much for Gryffindor bravery, _said Draco's voice_._

But her attention was drawn by a ball of parchment on her sofa. She smoothed it out and saw that it was a letter to Lucius. Hermione panicked - she didn't remember writing to him, and what if this was only a first draft? What if she had actually sent the final draft?

One should never drink and owl.

She relaxed when she read the letter and it proved only to be warning Lucius about Blackburn's portrait magic. How he could travel from one to the other, how he could order them to attack or eavesdrop, etc.

Still, she wondered what the final draft said. She could have added something extremely embarrassing in her drunken state. Like a declaration of undying love. Or an in depth explanation of why she needed to stay away from him.

_What about Blackburn?, _asked Lucius_. You should not let him get away with this. _

"There's nothing I can do about him. I'm not an Auror anymore."

_You don't have to be an Auror to seek vengeance, Love. I can help you. All you have to do is ask._

"I shouldn't see you ever again. I'm supposed to be cutting you out of my life, remember?"

Hermione had promised herself she would do that, but the moment he was in peril she jumped to protect him. And she allowed him to manipulate her into having that horrible discussion, the one where he dissolved her glamours.

_But you love me - you won't be able to turn your back on me. Just like you won't be able to forget what Blackburn did to you._

Merlin, she itched for a drink. Maybe if she was pissed enough the accursed voices would quiet.

_I saw your true visage, _Lucius persisted_. I didn't look revolted, did I? _

"No, but you were adamant the scars could be healed. What if they can't? What would you do then? I know what you would do. You would leave me. I would rather spare myself the agony."

There was no response from Lucius.

One thing was for sure - too much reality had intruded. She Summoned another bottle of firewhisky and pried off the lid, casting it aside with a flick of her wrist.

No glass was required.

xOxOxOx

"You need to pull yourself together," said Lucius.

Hermione forced open her eyes and saw him standing just outside of her reach. He looked oddly casual sans robe, in a black, button up shirt and trousers, but he looked no less scrumptious.

It seemed she had gone from hearing voices to hallucinating.

He frowned. This was no frown of annoyance - this was genuine concern. "How long have you been like this?"

"You know. You've been right here with me." She was in her loo; she must have passed out on the floor. A bottle of firewhiskey had overturned, and she was sprawled in a sticky puddle.

"How long?" he asked.

She thought she heard running water. "I don't know. It depends on what day it is."

His frown deepened. She wanted to touch him, but doing so would ruin the illusion. No doubt her hand would pass right through him, since he was fake.

Reality was bad; illusion was good. Especially when that illusion was Lucius. This way she could be with him and not have to worry about consequences, about broken hearts and bitter disappointment. If he wasn't real, there was no risk.

"Are you only pissed, or have you taken something else?"

"Only firewhiskey." She gazed up at him rather dreamily. "I love you. It's foolish, because you're only going to hurt me. But I can't help it."

"You should hush before you say something you regret," he said.

He picked her up from the floor. His skin was soft, but firm from the muscles beneath. She felt his heart pounding against her, as she was against his chest, held in the bridal style position…

She stroked his shoulder. Solid. She pressed an ear to him and heard his heart beating..._Oh, Shite. _He wasn't an hallucination.

She jerked in his arms.

Then she was falling…and then she was thrashing…the water was ice cold. She was fully submerged for a moment before she thrust herself over the surface, sputtering and cursing.

Lucius had perched on the edge of her tub. He murmured an incantation, and his spell sobered her instantly. She remained in the freezing water, teeth clinking, as it fully dawned on her that he was really in her loo, in flesh and blood.

"Bloody hell!" She scrambled out of the tub and looked around for her wand. "If you meant to sober me with a spell, why throw me in a freezing bath?"

Her wand was in the sink. She grabbed it and dried herself with a charm. Reluctantly, she checked her reflection and was relieved to see her glamour had held firm. Some glamours faded due to unconsciousness, but she had switched to a kind that held even while she slept. She refused to spend one second with her scars revealed.

"I thought it might be humorous," he said. "But it was not."

"If sobering me up was your objective, you've succeeded. You can leave now."

How had he gained entrance into her home? He must have broken through her wards. Which was rude and totally uncalled for, but that was Lucius.

"I said you can leave now," she said.

He merely stared at her. Draco had inherited this expression from him. The invasive one. The X-ray vision one. It made her more than a little uncomfortable, so she left the loo and went into her kitchen to prepare tea. Only for herself, of course. She wouldn't allow him to linger.

"Have you been on a drinking binge since we last saw one another?" He had leaned against the wall nearby, his arms wrapped over his chest.

"I won't ask you to leave again."

"You should know I am not so easy to thwart," he said. "Now. Please answer my question."

"I am not doing this."

"Perhaps you will have no other choice."

"You are an arse."

His lips twitched. Did he actually enjoy it when she called him names? It did seem to amuse him for some reason. She noticed the last time they verbally sparred.

"And you are a drunkard," he retorted.

She nearly dropped her tea cup. "Why won't you just leave? I've hit rock bottom, and you aren't helping matters."

"That is precisely why I'm here, Love. I feel responsible for your predicament. I can help if you let me."

"I see. I'm a charity case." She pushed by him. "I don't need your charity."

He didn't speak for a while, but he did shadow her. She carved out a spot on her sofa and sipped her tea. Maybe if she ignored him he would give up and go.

"Look around you," he said.

She sighed. "What am I supposed to look at?"

"Just look."

Begrudgingly, she complied. The first thing she noted was the empty firewhiskey bottles all over. They were on most of the surfaces in the room, including her fireplace mantle. A few had even been thrown to the floor. Exactly how much had she drank?

The next thing she noted was that the room was a mess. There were books, sheets of parchment, dirty clothes, and other items scattered hither and thither. And the room wasn't the only thing that was a mess. She couldn't remember the last time she changed clothes or showered.

"I hope you understand this cannot continue," said Lucius. "As I said before, you have to pull yourself together."

He'd certainly made his point, but she wasn't about to admit it. "Pull myself together for what? _I have nothing left_."

"Am I nothing, then?"

She was a bit stunned to see a genuine flare of anger in his eyes. Had she offended him?

"You need time away from here," he said. "Pack a bag."

Hermione glowered. "Not likely."

"This is non-negotiable."

"I might like you to control me in the bedroom, but in real life it's not so sexy." Her stomach fluttered when she recalled him pinning her down, speaking to her in that dangerous tone of his.

"We both know I'll win this contest of wills. You should concede now. You're only wasting your energy."

"Let's say I agree. Where do you intend to take me?"

"On holiday."

Hermione nearly choked on her tea. "What?"

"You need a change of environment. I've already spoken to Healer Caruja. She has agreed to travel out of country for your daily treatments."

Despite how much of a drunkard Hermione had become, she managed to make it to her treatments. Caruja mentioned her excessive drinking more than once, as Hermione was plastered for nearly every appointment.

Caruja had not mentioned Lucius at all, however. At first Hermione was frightened Caruja would drop her as a patient after the photo in the _Daily Prophet_, but if the healer gave a damn she didn't show it.

"What else do you plan to do?" he asked. "Sit alone in the dark and drink yourself senseless?"

That was a good question. What did she plan to do?

"We can return when the dust settles." He must have meant once the controversy over the photo died down. "We'll be gone a month. Maybe a little more."

He was actually asking her to go on holiday with him. Because he was concerned for her well-being and wanted to help her? Because he wanted her company? Her heart tried to swell, but she stopped it. She couldn't see him anymore; she wanted to spare herself the agony. Eventually, when the scars couldn't be healed, he would leave her.

But until then, maybe she could enjoy him. Maybe she should look at the situation differently. What was that old adage? Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?

Maybe an idiot coined that adage. Or maybe he wasn't an idiot at all.

"You can always return here if you are unhappy," he said. He had sensed her vacillation and gone in for the kill.

Lucius had a slippery, Slytherin tongue, but he also had a point. If things became too difficult for her she could always return.

And she did yearn for him, despite her fears.

xOxOxOx

"If you wish to remain here, there is one rule you must follow," said Lucius.

"And you waited to tell me until now?" Hermione was slightly annoyed he decided to dole out a restriction, (though she was unsurprised) but the annoyance diminished when she saw the view.

A portkey had transported them to a beautiful place. The manor seemed to be perched on a cliff, for all she saw through the picture windows was an amazing, snow capped mountain range.

"There will be no drinking of any kind."

"Is this an intervention? Have you taken me to rehab?" The room didn't seem "institutional" but the rehabilitation facilities for the wealthy were typically posh.

"Pardon me?" He seemed flummoxed by her use of Muggle terminology.

"Where are we?"

"This is one of my homes."

"Your private home?"

His brow furrowed. "Yes."

"Good. Because if you expect me to take part in group therapy or some other nonsense, I _will_ leave."

"Group therapy?"

"A Muggle practice. People gather together and talk about their problems."

"Publicly?" He pulled a face.

"Yes, but only within the group. They promise not to share one another's secrets."

"There is only one way to keep a secret - and that is to not share it with anyone. Do you agree there will be no drinking?"

Hermione searched herself, and that itch to drink was gone for the time being. "I agree."

"Then come."

"Why is it that you often sound as if you're speaking to a dog, when you're in fact speaking to me?" But even as she complained, she followed him down a corridor to a bedroom.

The bed - and it was gargantuan, large enough to comfortably fit a Quidditch team - was positioned so it faced the windows overlooking the mountains. The blanket was a chocolate brown fur, and there was a fur rug before the fireplace, this one creamy white. Obviously Lucius was not a member of PETA.

"No house elves?" she asked. Normally a house elf would have escorted her to her room, not the master of the manor.

"Binty is preparing an early dinner."

She dropped her suitcase to the gargantuan bed and unzipped. "I'm surprised you chose to stay here." She wasn't sure how many estates he owned, but she figured he had several in different parts of the world. "After being in prison for so long...it's so secluded and quiet here."

He once said to her, _I've had ten years of quiet._

"Loneliness and solitude are two different things. Dinner is nearly ready. Please dress appropriately for the meal."

It was a pure-blood custom to dress to the nines for meals, even in private settings amongst family. She was glad she had thought to bring a few nicer ensembles because his customs hadn't even entered her mind as she packed.

"Will do," she said.

He nodded and glided out.

Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from his backside as he made his exit. Only when he disappeared from view did she cover her face with her hands, feeling her mottled flesh beneath her fingertips. This was a mistake, wasn't it? A terrible, terrible mistake.

xOxOxOx

The formality was unnerving. Hermione was at one end of an immensely long table. Lucius was on the other end, so far away he seemed almost small. She watched him press a tiny piece of beef into his mouth. She had noted that he would chew one mouthful for exactly sixty seconds before swallowing.

They hadn't spoken in many, prolonged, drawn out minutes; in fact, they had not spoken more than two words to one another, and this was the last course. Even worse, it wasn't a comfortable silence. She and Lucius weren't familiar enough for that yet.

The only sound was the scraping of cutlery against china. The meal was excellent, but she couldn't enjoy it because the ambiance was so tense and weird.

"Is this how you always dine?" she asked.

"Is there any other way?"

She thought of meals with the Weasleys. Everyone would crowd round the table, so close the sides of their legs would inadvertently brush against the legs of the person beside them. They would talk and laugh and it was expected that Ron and at least one of his brothers would fight over the last piece of chicken, or whatever food Molly had prepared. Initially it was bizarre for Hermione, since she was an only child. She was accustomed to meals that were quieter, more subdued, not the chaos at the Burrow.

But even her quieter, subdued meals with her parents were never as silent and sterile as this.

"When one shares a meal with another, it can be a form of bonding," she said. "An opportunity to...enrich the relationship." On impulse, she picked up her meal and walked all the way over to Lucius's end of the table. She took the chair to his left. "This is much better."

Technically she had committed a faux pas, as she was expected to remain where she had been seated. "I don't mind honoring your traditions, but maybe you could honor a few of mine as well," she said.

Carefully, she cut into her beef, awaiting his response. Was he willing to be flexible, or would he insist upon being stuffy and traditional?

"Fair enough," he said, after a pause, but his voice was a bit stiff.

She smiled...it was the first time she had smiled in a long time. Her lips felt out of practice. "Your world must be stifling. So rigid and restricted. Every move you make is closely watched and judged."

"That is what I first rebelled against, when I was young," he said.

"And you rebelled against your father. He was a psycho, by the way." He let the Dark Lord torture Lucius for days, in Lucius's own home, a place where he should have been safe and secure.

Lucius's head snapped up, and her teeth clanked together. Hermione had probably overstepped her bounds. She did have a habit of opening her big mouth and saying the wrong thing. On the other hand, he gave her his memories for a reason. Would he object to discussing them?

The moment stretched...and then he chuckled. "That is one way of putting it."

The tension that had been mounting in Hermione reduced somewhat. "What happened to him? In your last memory you threatened to kill him."

"Are you asking if I killed my father?"

She hesitated. Suddenly, talking with Lucius had become like walking through a field of landmines. "I'm sorry. I'm being too blunt, aren't I?"

"That is one of the things I like about you." He dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "You are very much a Gryffindor. You say what you mean, and you strive for honesty. I am accustomed to Slytherin company, and though I admire my fellow snakes socializing with them is an exhausting enterprise."

"How so?"

"We are always plotting something, as you know. And we are a ruthless, cutthroat bunch. I would never show my soft underbelly to any of them...one must always be on their guard with Slytherins."

She grinned. "You have a soft underbelly?" This made her imagine caressing him just below his navel where his treasure trail began, and her grin vanished. Thoughts like that were tortuous, seeing as how they would never come true.

"Everyone has a weakness, Love."

"In order to have a true friend, you must allow them to see your weaknesses, and vice-versa." This brought up thoughts of _her_ friends, and how she had been such a coward, too frightened to confront them now that they knew she had feelings for Lucius. She was in a vulnerable place, and she didn't trust them enough to accept her.

Thinking of that would only depress her, so she turned to wondering about Lucius instead. Had he ever had a true friend, or was he too careful to show anyone his soft underbelly?

"My father died of the dragon pox," he said. "It struck him down suddenly and quickly, before he could be healed."

The elderly were most susceptible to the disease, but there was a cure, invented by Gunhilda of Gorsemore in the sixteenth century. Surely the dragon pox couldn't have killed Abraxas so swiftly the potion wasn't acquired in time. Had Lucius locked his weakened father in a sick room and done nothing to cure him?

This was a shocking thought. But more shocking than that, if he did let his father die Hermione didn't blame him for it. It was strange how readily she accepted him, no matter how dark he continually proved to be. There wasn't even a flicker of unease.

"May I ask you a question?" she asked.

"You may, but I may decide not to answer it."

"Clearly you weren't prejudiced against Muggle-borns when you were younger, based on what you did for Claudia."

Up went his Malfoy mask. "I killed Claudia. I did nothing for her – I ended her life." He spoke in a straightforward, calm manner, but she guessed there was a storehouse of emotions beneath. Otherwise there would be no need for the mask.

"You had no other choice! What else were you supposed to do! What you suffered, in her honor..." Hermione's throat tightened as his memories flickered in her head.

"If you believe what I did was noble, you are mistaken. What I did was selfish, not selfless. I chose to murder her rather than suffer any more myself."

A fire stirred in Hermione's belly. "As any human being would! Do you think anyone else in your position would have chosen differently? If you do, _you_ are the one who is mistaken."

She abruptly looked down at her half eaten beef. She could be quite passionate when defending others, and now she had used that passion to defend him against his own conscience.

_Landmines are everywhere_, she thought. _Change the subject. Stop poking at old wounds._

"Maybe that is true," he said finally. "But it does not feel true."

He seemed willing to be open with her, even about his most painful trials. And that was odd. Most men weren't too quick to discuss their feelings, but he was more receptive than most. And that made her curious. Why did he give her his memories? Why was he being so open with her about his past?

Draco believed it was a means of seduction, but Hermione didn't believe that. If seduction was Lucius's sole objective he wouldn't be freely discussing Claudia with her now. No, he had other motives. And maybe, if she studied him enough, she would figure out what they were.

xOxOxOx

After dinner they retired to the parlor. A Muggle might have had brandy and a cigar at this juncture, but Lucius wasn't Muggle, and there was no brandy or cigars in view.

Hermione had only seen a small portion of the manor – just her bedroom, the dining room, the corridor in between, and the receiving room where they materialized by portkey. So when she entered the parlor she scrutinized it like one scrutinizes unfamiliar surroundings.

It was what she expected - luxurious and vast, with plenty of windows to see the amazing view. But there was one thing missing. Portraits.

Portraits were commonplace in pure-blood homes, even properties they rarely frequented.

"You received my letter," she said. When she found the ball of parchment on her sofa she wondered if she owled another draft of the letter to Lucius. It wasn't unusual for her to pen several drafts of the same missive, since she was OCD like that. What she didn't know was what the letter said, exactly. Hopefully she hadn't confessed her undying love in a post script, or something equally as mortifying.

"I received all of your letters," he said.

Hermione's nerves jangled. _All_ of her letters? How many had she sent during her drinking jag?

"You do not remember writing them, do you? I suspected as much." He smirked, but it wasn't one of his evil smirks. It was another type, and she didn't know what it meant. This unsettled her more. "They were quite entertaining."

"Entertaining how?" But did she really want to know?

"I received the first the day after you cast the Full Body-Bind on me. It explained about the portraits and was rather detached, only meant to relay information and nothing more. But the second was not like that. Judging by the content of the letter and your handwriting, I deduced you were plastered when you authored it. The following letters indicated the same. By the time I received the last, I concluded that you were in worse shape than I imagined. That's why I visited you and sobered you up."

"What did they say?"

"I will show the letters to you later. Now is not the time."

"Are you afraid I'll read them and want to drink again?"

He patted the sofa cushion beside him. "Sit with me. We have something we need to discuss."

"You always want to discuss something," she said, as she took the arm chair nearest the fireplace. Sitting too close was a bad idea; she might be tempted to touch him, and she couldn't do that.

"We have a common enemy."

"Who? Blackburn?" she asked. "How is he your enemy? He's only ruined my life."

"He did plot to have our photograph displayed in the _Daily Prophet_."

Her chest clenched. "And that was an embarrassment to you, I'm sure. Since I'm a Muggle-born." She hated how insecure she sounded, and erected her own version of the Malfoy mask.

Of late she had done very little to conceal her true feelings around Lucius, and that might have been a mistake. She was worried about having her heart stomped on, and yet she had been constantly wearing it on her sleeve.

"I will be honest with you, Love, but what I am about to say might offend you." He paused, and Hermione's nerves jangled even more. She wished she could turn back time and never mention her insecurities about the photograph.

"Pure-blood wizards who believe in blood purity do have liaisons with Muggle-borns. It is not something that is ever discussed, but it is an open secret, and there are rules. Protection must always be used to avoid a pregnancy, and the relationship must never extend beyond a one-off."

The picture suddenly became crystal clear. Bigoted pure-blood wizards would have relations with Muggle-borns, but only in order to use them for sex. They would shag them and toss them aside.

She wasn't sure if Lucius had the same intentions. He did seem to care for her. When he read her last letter and realized what a bad spot she was in, he sobered her up and brought her to one of his own homes. He assured her the scars could be healed when she doubted they could. And he shared his most painful memories.

But Lucius was a Slytherin. He might have self-serving reasons for doing these things. Just because she couldn't work out what those reasons were didn't mean they weren't there.

"Your peers would see the photograph as you having a one-off with a mudblood," she said. "And they would hope they wouldn't be photographed doing such a thing."

"It would be viewed as an embarrassment, and an unfortunate blow to one's reputation. But it would not destroy my standing. That is of no consequence in our situation, however."

"Why? How is our situation different?"

He shook his head. "We have digressed. It is important that we decide how to deal with Blackburn as soon as possible."

Something tingled in her mind when he said _Blackburn_. Invisible fingers might have been tickling her brain matter. It was the strangest sensation she had ever experienced. She clutched her temples.

"Hermione?" he asked, after a moment. "What is wrong?"

She suddenly had her wand raised, and she didn't know why. She stared down at her hand, moving of its own volition like she was a marionette. It was as if her body and mind were two separate entities. Her brain shouted, _Stop this!,_ but her body refused.

During Auror training she was repeatedly exposed to the Imperius Curse in order to recognize its effects and learn how to counter it. Harry was a master at this, but Hermione had never managed to fight it, no matter how much a part of her screamed to take back control.

This was a bit different, though. Whatever this was, it wasn't the Imperius, but it was similar. She gritted her teeth and tried to stop herself from pointing her wand at Lucius, because the force inside her, the source of the tickling in her mind, had ordered her to kill him.

She tried to say, "Run!"

But instead she said, "_Avada Kedavra!_"


	17. The Sleeper Awakens

_I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters._

_Reviews and alerts are encouraged and appreciated! Thanks everyone. Hugs all around.  
_

Chapter Seventeen

The Sleeper Awakens

The Killing Curse slammed into the sofa, because Lucius, thank Merlin, had a quick enough reaction time to dive out of the way. But if he was just a fraction slower…

He vanished before she could attack him again. One second there, the next... gone.

Hermione felt as if she was split into two different witches. One witch, the real Hermione, was no longer the master of her own body. She was trapped inside herself, unable to control her own actions; she might as well have been watching a film with her doppelganger as the star.

The enemy inside was intangible, impossible to touch and therefore impossible to defeat. She wanted to fight, but there was nothing to fight against.

She was terrified she might actually kill Lucius. If she hurt him, even if she was compelled to, she would be devastated.

Meanwhile, the other Hermione, the murderous version, had become the master, and she was annoyed Lucius escaped. She had to complete her mission, and Lucius would not be easy prey.

"I know this isn't really you, Love." Lucius's voice issued from everywhere at once, making it impossible to determine his position. "I would prefer not to resort to violence, but I will be forced to if you persist."

"You are a violent man," said Other Hermione. She silently cast a revealing spell, as she figured he was hidden under an invisibility charm. When Lucius was not revealed, her eyes narrowed. "You are a sadist. You enjoy inflicting pain. Claudia knows the sort of man you really are. How can you live with yourself, knowing you killed the only woman you ever loved?"

For the first time Real Hermione experienced something else besides fear - rage. How dare she say something like that to him? He had shown her his memories - his soft underbelly - and she was using it against him.

"You hurt everyone you love. Draco hates you because of how you treated him. How many times did he visit you while you were in prison? Zero times in ten years. And your father…he was too ill with the dragon pox to save himself. You sat back and watched him die."

Light exploded a centimeter from her nose, temporarily blinding her. She was thrown into the air and came to an abrupt stop when she crashed into the ceiling. Pain crawled through her spine and the back of her skull. Her wand threatened to slip from her fingers, but she tightened her grip around it.

She tried to move, but she was plastered to the ceiling like an insect. It seemed he had hit her with a one-two whammy – an _Alarte Ascendare,_ which launched her into the air, and a Sticking Charm, which adhered her in place.

All this, and he didn't even attempt to disarm her. There had to be a reason for that.

She laughed. "Did I strike a nerve, Lucius?" When there was no response, she went on. "The real Hermione is trapped in this body. I can feel what she feels, think what she thinks. She's scared you're going to hurt her. And we both know you will. That's what you're good at. That's what you do."

Down below, the air wavered, as if from a Disillusionment. She watched it drift closer and closer. This was Lucius's plan? She thought he would do something less obvious. Surely he knew she was trained to detect Disillusionments. Oh, well. She would play along. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

There was a loud _thump_, and the Disillusionment evaporated. Lucius had fallen to the ground, arms and legs akimbo. His eyes gaped. No life was infused within them.

Real Hermione cried out. She had killed him. She had _killed_ him.

"Do shut up," said Other Hermione. She was basking in her triumph, and her other self's sniveling threatened to ruin the moment. She countered the Sticking Charm and floated to the ground with a _Wingardium Leviosa_.

This reminded Real Hermione of the dream she had while she was in the coma. But in the dream Lucius had sacrificed himself to save her, and she held him while he died…No, this wasn't real. This was another dream. It _had_ to be…

Other Hermione gloated over Lucius's corpse, so blinded by her own arrogance she didn't stop to think killing him might have been too easy…and Real Hermione was so grief stricken she didn't question how simple it was…

Until they both heard a single word. Other Hermione twirled-

And saw red.

XOxOxOx

"Lucius…" said Hermione. She lifted her cheek, as it had dropped onto her shoulder while she slept. She stirred and heard the sound of clinking chains. Metal cuffs were cinched around her wrists, which were in turn connected to chains, which were in turn connected to a stone wall.

This was the dungeon where Lucius was tortured.

Her last memory was of red light. Lucius must have Stunned her and brought her to Malfoy Manor. Most people would have feared for their safety, shackled in Lucius Malfoy's dungeon like she was, but it didn't once cross her mind that he might harm her.

"I had to restrain you," he said. She had imagined him tying her up before…but not under these circumstances. "Someone has turned you into a sleeper, and I believe I know who."

Hermione learned about sleepers during her Auror training. At one time the Dark Lord had a number of them planted in the Ministry. They weren't always Death Eaters, but all had undergone a series of brainwashing treatments that compelled them to perform a specific mission. A directive was buried in their minds and they weren't consciously aware of it.

What triggered the directive differed. Sometimes it was an innocuous image shown to them at the right moment. Other times it was the lyrics of a song or a single word, known as a password.

This was similar to what happened to Marcus Flint when he attacked Draco at the Lotus. Except poor Marcus was "programmed" to blindly attack anyone who triggered a particular set of memories. Sleepers, on the other hand, were much more complex. They had an entire personality separate from their real selves.

"She's no longer here," said Hermione. She was probably making no sense to Lucius, but she meant Other Hermione had disappeared. The bitch was no longer the master.

"She is still within you. I have temporarily trapped her in your mind, but the cage will not hold for long. I must find the person who did this in order to permanently fix you."

"You think it was Healer Bussard," she said. Bussard could have implanted the directive during the private sessions she didn't remember. Transforming an individual into a sleeper was time-consuming; it was not as simple as waving a wand. The process would have taken hours, and Bussard had plenty of time to warp her mind while she was in St. Mungo's.

Lucius might have guessed it was Bussard since he kept a watchful eye on her. His contacts at St. Mungo's would have explained why she was no longer Bussard's patient.

"Last I heard he left town," she said.

"I will find him."

"The things she said…they aren't true."

His face was veiled by shadow. There were torches aflame, but their glow failed to cut through the darkness surrounding him. She wished she could see him better, especially when he said:

"Yes, they are, Love."

xOxOxOx

Being chained to a wall for hours was rather boring. The shackles were necessary in case evil Hermione reared, and she understood why they were needed. Still, she wished Lucius would hurry up and find Bussard. Her wrists were even more chafed, and her legs were growing tired.

Luckily her thoughts helped to distract her from the discomfort.

Had Blackburn planned this from the start? He often spied on his victims, so he must have discovered the spell Hermione planted at Genue Manor. He lured Hermione into the manor with a few Ingrid screams, re-erected the wards to distance her from her back-up, and forced the portraits to attack.

And the curse scars…were those planned as well?

From there he somehow recommended Healer Bussard. Hermione doubted he himself contacted Harry, but she had little doubt he was behind it. Bussard then turned her into a sleeper, hoping she would manage to kill Lucius.

Merlin, it was convoluted - perhaps too convoluted. Hermione sensed she was missing something.

If she wasn't missing something, Blackburn seemed to have loads of time on his hands. He must plan and plot obsessively…which made her wonder if he was a Slytherin.

Why did he want Lucius dead? Was it merely another way to hurt her, or was there another reason?

Lucius...she had fallen for him, utterly and completely. If she ever lost him...if she had managed to kill him...

Hermione gasped as she finally understood what her intuition had been attempting to tell her for weeks now. She should have realized earlier, and maybe she would have if she hadn't been in the midst of a nervous breakdown.

Blackburn enjoyed forcing his victims to kill the most important men in their lives. Ingrid was Imperio'd when she killed her father, and therefore he did not fit Blackburn's MO – because she was the killer, not Blackburn. Blackburn started this pattern with Morta weeks earlier, when her fiancé, Finch, was gutted. Hermione had toyed with the idea that Blackburn might have an accomplice because of the extreme rage inherent in the murder.

Ingrid turned her life upside down to care for her father when he became ill. And Morta sacrificed her family for Finch when she was disowned. These were the men who were most important to them.

Blackburn had tried to repeat the pattern with Hermione. Did this mean he intended to dose her with Compulsion at some point? She shuddered, even though she suspected that was not in his master plan. He was obsessed with beauty, and he had made damn sure she was no longer attractive. Moreover, she wasn't his type. He liked them younger and much more innocent. Virginal.

But Hermione was still one of his victims.

More than once she'd asked herself, _Why me? _He claimed it was entertaining, and he did seem to take great pleasure in ruining her life. But this had a personal flavor…it smacked of revenge. He had gone too far for it to be a simple case of cat and mouse.

What had she ever done to him? She never even met him until the morning he ambushed her at the Leaky Cauldron.

Her brooding was interrupted when hinges squeaked. She expected to see Lucius, not -

"Draco?"

He had paused on the threshold, but the sound of her voice made him rush in. "What has Father done to you?"

This did not look good. Draco had found her chained up in the dungeon. He had visited Malfoy Manor for one reason or another and somehow figured out she was down here. She opened her mouth to tell him what happened, when that tickling skittered across her brain. Hermione screamed, but there was no sound; she had been rendered mute.

Other Hermione was the master again, and she didn't care to scream. Maybe Lucius had never caged her at all. Maybe she had simply been waiting for the right time to take control again. "It was horrible," she said. "Please help me, Draco. Before he comes back."

The shackles fell away. She rubbed at her wrists, as the metal had chafed her skin.

The fact that she was wandless irked her since she would need one in order to kill Lucius. This time the element of surprise was on her side, and she wouldn't fall for one of his tricks. The corpse she gloated over was an illusion, a distraction so he could attack from behind.

"What happened?" asked Draco.

"He took me from home and brought me here." She eyed Draco's wand. "If you hadn't shown up…I don't ever want to be at his mercy again."

"You don't look injured."

More annoyance flared in her. The Malfoys were suspicious by nature, which would make stealing his wand all the harder. Until an idea formed.

_Don't_, said Real Hermione. _Don't do this to him._

But Other Hermione pressed her cheek to his chest. "You were right about your father. All along. I was so stubborn."

At first he kept his arms at his sides, as though unsure what to do with them. But when she pressed even tighter against him, his arms coiled around her. She gently drew her nails up his back and he stiffened for a blink, until he pulled her even closer, as close as two humans could be.

She trailed a hand to his hair and caressed the little swirl behind his ear. Real Hermione had always fancied that little swirl of hair, and though she knew it was wrong a tiny part of her enjoyed touching it.

Their eyes met, and his lips dropped, nearer and nearer to her mouth…

Other Hermione was poised to grab his wand, but snarled in frustration when she flew back against the wall and the shackles snapped around her wrists once again.

"I don't know who you are, but you aren't Hermione," he said.

"How did you guess? Was it because the real Hermione would never touch you like that?"

He showed a trace of pain before he concealed it. Real Hermione was stabbed with little knives of guilt, but her other self wasn't so compassionate.

"Poor Draco," she said. "Hopelessly in love with a woman who loves your father instead. That must really sting, knowing your father can shag her anytime he wants."

His wand twitched as he considered using it.

"I wouldn't do that. The real Hermione is trapped inside me. If you hurt me, you hurt her as well. Unless that is your intention. I'm sure after seeing that photograph in the _Daily Prophet _you thought about it. You're so used to having any witch you ever wanted, but the one you want the most loves the man you hate the most."

"Your mind games are insipid," he said in a bored drawl. But her throat constricted as a _Silencio_ sank in.

She could no longer speak, but she could smirk. Her mind games were insipid, huh? Then why did he feel the need to silence her?

He stormed out, and the two Hermiones were alone.

_You should not have done that to him_, said Real Hermione.

_But it was fun_, said Other Hermione.

_I can't wait until Lucius destroys you_.

_If you think I'm separate from you, you're wrong. I'm a part of you. Healer Bussard made us into a Jekyll and Hyde case. I'm your dark side._

_You and I are nothing alike._ But Real Hermione wasn't so sure.

Other Hermione sensed her uncertainty and her smirk widened. _Why do you think you're so drawn to Lucius? _

Real Hermione remained silent. Talking with the thing inside her would only amuse it. She didn't want to feed the monster.

_You're too much of a coward to face the kind of person you've become_, said the monster. _You tell yourself Lucius is actually gentle and kind, not the Death Eater he seemed to be during the war. We both know that's shite. He's still that same man - and that is why you're attracted to him. Death Eater Lucius turns you on._

_Shut your bloody mouth!_, Real Hermione raged, too angry now to ignore her other self.

_It's really of no consequence, though. As soon as he realizes your scars won't heal, he'll be so disgusted he won't even want to look at you. Do you really think a gorgeous man like him will waste his time with a mutilated freak? _

Lucius entered the dungeon then, dragging along Healer Bussard. Real Hermione was grateful for the interruption because her other self was a serious bitch. It was also good to know that Lucius had found Bussard and Hermione could be _fixed_, as Lucius said. Well, she was definitely broken, and in more ways than one.

Bussard's robe was rumpled and torn, and one of the lenses of his glasses was cracked. Lucius pushed him to the ground, and he landed squarely on his bum. For a moment it seemed he might stand, but he thought better of it.

Draco hadn't accompanied Lucius. Perhaps he didn't even know his father had returned.

"Tell me the counterword," said Lucius.

The password caused the directive in Hermione's mind to trigger; the counterword would destroy the directive in her mind all together. If a sleeper was to fall under suspicion, the counterword was used to purge the sleeper's mission. This way if anyone poked around in his or her head, there would be no indications they were brainwashed.

Bussard appeared resolute, until Hermione noticed his hands shaking. "If I do that you have no reason to keep me alive."

"I have no reason to keep you alive if you are of no use to me," said Lucius. "_Crucio_."

Bussard jerked and seized. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and a whitish foam gushed from his mouth.

"Stop!" Hermione might have shouted if her vocal chords were under her command. Yet, even as she sought to protect Bussard (Torturing him was wrong, wasn't it?) a part of her brimmed with a grim satisfaction. Because of him she tried to kill Lucius.

And there was a rush as well, one decidedly erotic in flavor, as she watched Lucius work. Both Hermiones responded to it.

_I told you_, said Other Hermione. _Death Eater Lucius turns you on. I don't blame you for it. He is beautiful, isn't he?_

The purple light vanished. Bussard rolled onto his side and vomited so forcefully his back bowed.

"The counterword," said Lucius.

Bussard managed to sit up, and he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "You will kill me either way. I would rather die unbroken."

"I have already promised to let you free if you obey me," said Lucius. "And I have also promised to kill you if you do not. The decision is yours."

Bussard scowled. "I'm supposed to trust your word?"

"Believe it or not, obeying me is your only chance for survival."

Time past as Bussard considered. Lucius grew impatient. "_Crucio_!"

More bucking and seizing and white foam, until the purple light again vanished. Bussard trembled as he retched, but his stomach was empty; he merely dry heaved. "I will tell you! I swear it!" He managed to show a palm.

Lucius's wand fell to his side. "I am waiting."

"The counterword is _lynx_."

"Must it be spoken in your voice only?"

"No," said Brussard, wiping at his mouth again.

"If you are lying, I will kill you."

Bussard swallowed. If she could have, Real Hermione would have swallowed as well. She knew that tone. That was the lethal tone Lucius used when he was dead serious.

His magic suddenly swirled about the dungeon, like a solid entity, and washed over her skin. She had never been so near him when he unleashed his full power, and it was so potent all the hairs on her body stood on end.

Her heart picked up speed, and her pupils dilated. It was twisted, but it was her knee jerk reaction, her body's automatic response, like her respiration or temperature.

Other Hermione was right - Death Eater Lucius turned her on. She was unsure how to feel about this, but she could no longer deny it.

When she watched Lucius throttle Cygnus Carrow with his bare hands, Hermione had a...physical reaction. This was something she had not wanted to admit, even as the scene occasionally replayed in her head. The way Lucius's arm muscles bulged from the exertion…the cold calculation as he wound the chain around Carrow's neck…

But viewing a memory and experiencing it firsthand were different. It was much harder to ignore when it was happening in real time, especially with her other self so ruthlessly pointing it out.

What was wrong with her? How could a good person become sexually aroused watching the man they love torture another human being?

Lucius turned to her suddenly, and she feared he had somehow sensed her arousal and was about to comment on it. Instead he captured her eyes. There were no wand movements, nor was there an incantation, but he entered her mind nonetheless.

The assault happened so quickly, and so unexpectedly, Other Hermione was taken by surprise. It was highly unusual for anyone to perform a nonverbal Legilimens, much less without a single wand motion. She tried to push him out, but he didn't budge.

"_Lynx_…" he said. The word reverberated in that sultry voice of his. It was like he had crawled into her skull.

Hermione wasn't sure what to expect, but she felt no pain or discomfort after the password was said.

He slipped from her mind as delicately as he entered, and that was when she noticed the difference. Other Hermione was gone. The only thing she felt when she looked at him was love, lust…and relief. She sagged against the chains.

Lucius seemed on the verge of _Crucio_'ing Bussard once more, but he refrained. "Did you do anything else to her? While she was under your care?"

"If you are suggesting molestation, that is ludicrous. I am not a rapist." Bussard sounded genuinely affronted by the insinuation.

But he did rape her mind. Thanks to him she tried to murder Lucius, and that evil monster possessed her. She was tempted to shout, "_Crucio_ him again, Lucius!"

_That is something Other Hermione would say_, she thought. The realization was disturbing. Was that monster really her dark side? She was leaning toward yes.

"Who paid you to implant the directive?" asked Lucius.

Bussard's body continued to tremble uncontrollably. The Cruciatus wreaked havoc on the nervous system. "I don't know her name, but she was an older woman. She was wearing a robe the guards at Azkaban wear."

Hermione sucked in an astonished breath. _Pearl? _Pearl paid Bussard to turn her into a puppet? This didn't make sense. Pearl tried to kill Lucius the day he was released from prison. If she had succeeded the directive planted in Hermione's head would have been useless.

It was clear there were motives she was unaware of, threads she hadn't yet seen. Disbelief and confusion wracked her.

Lucius, however, looked unsurprised. Hermione scrutinized him, wondering what he was hiding from her. He knew something she did not.

A headache blossomed in Hermione's temples. She wasn't sure if it was from the stress of her thoughts, or if it was from the mental duress caused by the sleeper awakening.

"The witch came to me the day Miss Granger was admitted to St. Mungo's," said Bussard. "She said I was recommended to oversee Miss Granger's healing and that I should accept her as a patient. She then described what she wanted me to do."

"Explain what the directive entailed," said Lucius.

"The moment Miss Granger heard you say the word _Blackburn_, she was to kill you. If there were witnesses she was to kill them as well."

Hermione's blood went cold. What if Lucius said the password in public? She would have gone on a rampage, slaughtering everyone in sight.

But another consideration gained her attention. Why would Pearl insist the password be _Blackburn_?

Bussard had just admitted to being involved in a murder attempt upon Lucius's life. Lucius said he would release Bussard, but Hermione wondered if he really would.

Lucius whisked his wand, and Hermione's shackles opened. That constriction in her throat dissipated along with the _Silencio_. She could now speak and move about freely, but she did neither.

"You should go upstairs," he said, after they had stared at one another for a few seconds. His hair was disarrayed, and his cheeks were flushed. Was it because he had enjoyed himself? After all, it had been at least a decade since he tortured someone.

"Why? What are you going to do to Bussard?"

"He is a skilled Occlumens, which is why I did not simply rip the password from his thoughts." Healers were typically skilled in the mental arts, since there were so many magical afflictions that impacted the mind. "It will take time to manipulate his memories. Go upstairs."

Lucius did not want her to witness whatever he meant to do. But why? Was he lying, or did he not want her to see him in action any more than she already had?

"May I have my wand?"

He hesitated, probably because he remembered how evil her other self was, but eventually the wand Levitated to her. She snatched it from the air.

"We should talk about our next move before we act." She put emphasis on _we_ so there would be no question she meant to be involved in whatever Lucius had planned. He would not take a murder attempt lightly and would strike back. "Where's Draco?"

"I sent him away."

Draco had many faults, but disloyalty wasn't one of them. He would not have left the manor knowing something was wrong with her, photograph or no photograph. Protecting one another was ingrained in them both, since they were partners for so many years.

Her brow crinkled. "What does that mean?"

Lucius sighed, as if irked by her persistence. "I Obliviated him and sent him home."

So Draco had moved out of Malfoy Manor. This was expected. He couldn't bear to be in the same room with Lucius.

"Why did you Obliviate him?"

"He's an Auror. He should not be involved in this." He gestured to Bussard, who was so sweaty his face shone like it was glazed with dew.

Hermione was relieved Draco wouldn't remember the nasty way she treated him. On the other hand, it was wrong to steal memories. She knew what it felt like, to realize your memory had been taken. The mind began to dwell on the what-if's. What if this happened? What if that happened? It brought out one's fear of the unknown.

But with any luck, Draco wouldn't even realize he was Obliviated in the first place.

"Whatever it is you're doing, I want in," she said.

"You believe you do, but I don't think you should be involved. That is why I am asking you to go upstairs."

"I'm not some fragile porcelain doll. Blackburn turned me into a weapon. I could have killed you!"

A few days before she asked herself if she was capable of killing Blackburn or if it was only a fantasy. Now she knew she was quite capable, and that was because of Lucius. Whenever she thought of how she almost murdered him…she felt sick and tainted. Her instinct was to defend him, to hold him and care for him. Some part of her would always see him as that chained young wizard, enduring days of torture for the woman he loved.

When she summoned those images, she was nearly blinded by fury. Before there was a line, one she was hesitant to cross, but now that line was no longer there. This was the last straw.

"Look inside yourself. If you were to take part in this and Blackburn was killed, how would you feel?" asked Lucius.

"I would be happy the nightmare was over. I would dance on his grave."

"That is your anger speaking, not you."

"The way I acted, when I was the sleeper. That was me, Lucius. That was my dark side. I didn't approve of what she was doing, but she was still me."

His brows rose with surprise, and she wondered how he perceived her. He claimed she was "very much a Gryffindor." Did he not truly realize how much she had changed since the war?

"You are sure?" he asked.

She peered directly into his eyes so he would see precisely how sure she was. "I want vengeance."

"Rage can cloud your moral compass," he said. "If you continue to do things you normally wouldn't do, things you aren't comfortable with, you will eventually become comfortable with them. They will no longer seem wrong, and it becomes easier to do things that are even worse. This is how good men transform into bad men."

He seemed to be speaking from personal experience, so she carefully considered his words. He started out as a rebellious, cocky teenager who hid at the cottage by the sea to listen to Muggle records. By the end of the war he was a full-fledged Death Eater with a murder count in the double digits.

If she was involved in the Blackburn's death, would it really be easier for her to kill again? Would the act spark her moral decline?

No, it wouldn't, she decided. This was a matter of self-defense. She was not the one who drew first blood.

But maybe she was rationalizing it. Murder was always wrong, wasn't it?

She might have thought so, back when she was the girl who tried to see the good in everyone and thought she could change the world. But as she told Ginny, that girl was dead.

"I understand what you're trying to do," she said. "But I've made my decision."

xOxOxOx

Lucius and Bussard made no noise. A battle was occurring between them, but because it was between two minds she couldn't tell what was happening. They stared unblinkingly at one another. Occasionally one of them would flinch, smirk, or scowl, but again, she had no idea what prompted their changing expressions.

For someone as skilled in the mental arts as Bussard, an Obliviation was not a reliable method of altering his memories. Lucius was forced to use other means.

Hermione looked at him, drinking him in unabashedly since he was too distracted by his mental battle with Bussard to notice. Her other self was quite accurate when she called him beautiful. He was not beautiful in a feminine way, but there was something about his demeanor, and his looks, and his sense of humor that added up to beautiful. It was the whole package, really.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Lucius rose. He looked exhausted; the mental battle had drained his energy. As for Bussard, he wasn't even conscious. He toppled forward and would have fallen on his face if not for Lucius planting a hand on his forehead. Lucius whispered something, too lowly to make out…and Bussard vanished with a loud _crack_.

It was the sound of a Disapparition. "What did you do with him?" she asked.

"I sent him home."

"You entered my mind without a verbal incantation or a wand movement, and now you've forcefully Apparated Bussard."

"I can only forcefully Apparate someone out of the manor because I am master."

He beckoned for her to follow, and they stepped out into the shadowy corridor. Vaguely, she was aware this should have felt wrong - as an Auror she was taught to protect and serve, not to watch healers tortured - but she was not disquieted. Once she set her mind on an objective she pursued it without looking back, sometimes in a rather Machiavellian fashion. Both Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge could attest to that.

And there was that rage, too. The rage Lucius seemed to think was "clouding her moral compass."

"As for the Legilimens, I was in prison for years without a wand," he said. "I had much practice."

"You can perform a Legilimens without a wand?"

"You could as well if you had a decade to hone your skills."

"I'm assuming you read the guards' minds." And hers? Had he invaded her mind and she wasn't even aware of it?

"It was beneficial to know what they were thinking."

"Did you know Finch planned to steal the recipe for Compulsion?"

His stride slowed a bit, but sped up again. "What do you think, Love?"

"I don't think you would have willingly given over that recipe to Blackburn. I was sure of that from the very beginning."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It's not your style."

"And what is my style? Or my profile, as you call it."

Hermione had developed a profile for him, but to tell him would be awkward. This was one of those times where she might open her big mouth and say the wrong thing. Like their conversation over dinner, she felt as if she was walking in a field of landmines.

"I'm not sure you really want to know my opinion."

By this time they had climbed the stairs (the ones Hermione recalled from his memory, when she wished she could Vanish his footprints) and they had emerged in that familiar hallway - the corridor where he killed Claudia.

Hermione could have pointed to the precise spot along the wall where it happened. The Dark Lord had positioned her into a Crucifixion pose. It was probably a way for him to express his psychotic sense of humor.

A sort of hush fell over them as they made their way down that corridor. How could Lucius live in the house where he had murdered the woman he loved? Granted, Malfoy Manor had been in his family for generations…but Claudia's memory was still ripe here. Hermione was surprised Claudia had not become a ghost and haunted the manor forever, but it seemed she chose to move on to the other side.

Luckily for Lucius. Her figurative ghost loomed over him enough. To have an actual specter haunting him would have been horrible.

"Well?" he asked, once they cleared the corridor.

"Well what?"

"You were about to describe my profile."

She couldn't believe, after what had just happened in that corridor, that he had decided to persist with this. "Maybe now is not the time," she said.

"Ah, but now I am more curious than ever, Love. You cannot leave it a mystery."

She grinned. "If you show me the letters I owled you, I will tell you whatever you want to know." He said nothing, and she chuckled. "Now you understand the position you put me in."

Lucius stopped so suddenly she almost rammed into his back. She retreated a couple of steps, wondering what had gotten into him, when he spun and cupped her cheek. For a wonderful, blissful second she relished the feel of his hand upon her…But that bliss was destroyed when she quickly yanked away from him.

He had touched the scars! It was unacceptable.

"Perhaps you forgot my condition," she said. She was a bit embarrassed by how she yanked away, like his fingers had burned her. "I'm not so pretty under these glamours." Her voice hitched, and she pointedly looked in another direction.

"We should discuss this," he said.

"Of course you want to discuss it," she mumbled. He did seem to want to discuss everything, at least where they were concerned. He was the most communicative male she had ever met.

Other witches would have been impressed by this fetish of his, but not Hermione. She was the kind of woman who preferred to avoid issues. She was delighted when she and Draco could be friends again without having A Talk. And Lucius had already coerced her to suffer through Multiple Talks.

Why was he so hell bent on talking about everything? Maybe it was a result of living in solitary confinement for a decade. He didn't have much of a chance to converse much. The guards certainly wouldn't have popped in for a chat, he had no contact with the other prisoners, and he had few visitors.

When she checked the prison register, she saw he hadn't seen a single visitor in eight years. (The last person eight years before was Narcissa, and that was most likely an unpleasant meeting. That was around the time they divorced.)

"I don't want you to touch me," she said. "That's simple enough a Talk isn't necessary."

But rather than persist, as she worried he would, he said, "As you wish." He started walking again, and after a pause, she followed him.


	18. Confrontations

_I don't own JK Rowling's characters. _

_Thanks everyone for your reviews and alerts! Sorry for the delay, but I should be posting the next couple of chapters very soon._

Chapter Eighteen

Confrontations

"You're not supposed to scratch the scars, Love," said Lucius. He didn't bother to glance up from the morning issue of the _Daily Prophet _as he spoke.

Hermione's fingers paused mid motion. She didn't even realize her nails were busy until Lucius mentioned it. "You would be scratching too if you had this gunk all over you. It itches like mad."

Two days earlier Healer Coruja gave Hermione a cream that was supposed to reduce the appearance of the curse scars. The cream was a thick, green muck she had to apply to every nook and cranny, and she was not to wash it off for an hour.

Truth be told, Hermione would have preferred Lucius stay away for the hour she wore the cream. Her entire body was covered in the muck and it was very unpleasant. But he had insisted on joining her on the balcony and once he decided to do anything it was difficult to dissuade him.

"Must I force you to wear a pair of mittens? Or can you control yourself?"

She wasn't sure if Lucius was joking or not but glared at him nonetheless. Though he sensed the glare he still did not glance up from the paper. Instead he flipped a page and sipped his espresso, feigning obliviousness.

It was just as well. Since she learned he could perform wandless, nonverbal Legilimens, she'd been careful about peering directly into his eyes. She wondered how he managed to learn to do that in Azkaban. The wards were supposed to stop him from using wandless magic. The only way he could circumvent them was if someone tweaked them to allow it.

The only person who could tweak the wards without detection was the warden. Hermione had only met Warren Crabapple in passing, but he was most likely corrupt. Lucius must have paid him to tweak the wards.

Eventually she gave up with the glaring and returned her attention to the back issues of the Daily Prophet stacked on the table before her. She hadn't read the paper since the photograph was published. Hermione reread the article she was most interested in. Apparently Pearl was detained following her attempt to kill Lucius, but was later released due to "lack of evidence." That was a crock; there were loads of witnesses.

Hermione's instinct was to rush out, grab Pearl, and interrogate her as soon as possible. Lucius, however, had stressed that the situation should be handled a trifle more delicately than that. Slytherins were experts at waiting patiently before striking. Their motto could have been, _Revenge is a dish best served cold._

Hermione wished the damn dish would cool already. As usual, she had more questions than answers, and she was determined to find out the truth.

She dropped the paper and appraised the view spread out before her. The night her sleeper awakened and was subsequently destroyed, she and Lucius returned to the manor in the mountains. She had no idea where the manor was located and had not asked, though, judging by the scenery she could have made a few educated guesses.

There was snow everywhere, glistening beneath the sun as if sprinkled with diamonds. Beyond was a mountain range, those soaring peaks with wispy, white halos. As lovely as the view was, this was a harsh climate. If not for the heating charm over the balcony she might have frost bite by now.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, her fingernails were busy again. She became aware she was scratching when a pair of thick, green mittens suddenly appeared on her hands. Lucius chuckled at her annoyed scowl, at least until she threw a mitten at him. It smacked him between the eyes, and some of the green muck smeared on his forehead.

Now Hermione was the one laughing.

"I should punish you for your insolence," he said, and Vanished the mittens he'd conjured. He didn't notice some of the cream was smeared on his forehead, however, and Hermione had no intention of telling him.

"You can try," she said. "But I doubt you'll succeed."

"Well, isn't this a cozy little domestic scene. I do hope I'm not interrupting."

Draco stood nearby, having sneaked in so quietly she hadn't detected his presence. She had a strange feeling…like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing. But that was ridiculous. Draco had no claim on her, and she was not ashamed of her relationship with Lucius.

In the center of the table was a platter of fresh fruit and pastries. Draco grabbed a green apple and bit into it.

"I have already explained you are welcome any time," said Lucius.

This was news to Hermione.

"How magnanimous of you," said Draco, and took the chair between them.

Lucius was unruffled, or so it seemed on the surface. The Lucius beneath the surface was often enigmatic. "Is there a purpose for your visit?"

Hermione waved her wand under the table, discreetly Vanishing the green muck smeared on Lucius's forehead. If there was to be a confrontation between father and son he should look dignified. Then she began to rise, but Draco seized her wrist before her bum could lift very far above the cushion.

His nostrils flared like a bull. "You should stay for this. It concerns you as well."

"Draco, do not manhandle me." He squeezed her wrist hard enough to send pain zipping up her arm, and she had to force herself to remain calm. Not only did she not like to be touched, but his aggression prodded her to be just as aggressive in return.

He shoved her wrist away. "I would like to know why you Obliviated me, Father."

Somehow Draco detected the Obliviation. Hermione had hoped this wouldn't happen.

"Something occurred that you should not have seen. As you are an Auror I did not want you involved."

"That should have been my decision, not yours."

Lucius inclined his head in agreement. "What do you remember?"

"Bits and pieces," Draco admitted. "Hermione shackled in the dungeon, mostly."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. If there was truly a higher power she prayed it would not allow Draco to recall the horrible things her other self did to him. Still, she didn't agree that Draco needed to be Obliviated. That was an independent act on Lucius's part that she would have objected to, if he had offered her the chance.

"Healer Bussard turned me into a sleeper," she said. "The directive was to kill me." She glanced at Lucius, but if he was angry at her for telling Draco the truth, she couldn't tell.

"Why would Healer Bussard try to kill Father?"

Lucius casually plucked a grape from the platter as if they were engaging in a normal, everyday discussion, and his bejeweled rings flashed in the light. He could wear several pieces of jewelry at once and not seem foppish. "The Azkaban guard, Pearl, paid him to do it."

Draco was silent for a time as he absorbed the information. "Why Obliviate me?"

"To retrieve the counterword I had to convince Healer Bussard to tell me what it was. I did not want you connected to my actions."

"Is he dead?"

"He is very much alive."

"That's surprising. Did Hermione's presence stay your hand?"

Lucius's eyes flashed with as much brilliance as his bejeweled rings, and his lips drew into a hard line.

"I know precisely what sort of man Lucius is," said Hermione, in an effort to avoid an argument. It was doubtful her interference would do anything but cause more trouble, but she would try. "There is no reason for him to act less like himself when I'm around. Do you think I would be here if I didn't accept him?"

"So is that what it takes to attract you? Do I have to become a mass murderer before I have a chance with you? Tell me something, Hermione. What kind of man shags the witch his son fancies?"

"The sort of man who takes what he wants and doesn't give a shite who he tramples on to do it. Do you think I haven't thought about this? You keep attacking Lucius's character when I have already said I know precisely how he is."

"If you think he will keep you, you are sadly mistaken. Father has always had his whores and he never keeps them for long. And those were beautiful witches without scars."

Hermione's palm contacted Draco's cheek before her thoughts caught up with her hand. Her fingers smarted, and she had left a red print, as well as green muck, on his skin. "I will not stop caring for Lucius because your feelings are hurt." Her voice wavered as it dawned on her what she had done.

"That is the second time you've hit me." The first slap was when they were students at Hogwarts, of course. "There will not be a third." He put something on the table - a white card with a black symbol upon it. "You don't know Father as well as you think you do."

"That was dreadful," she said, after Draco had gone. Her hands shook a little, and she hid them under the table.

Part of the reason she didn't want to have that row in front of Lucius was because she knew she would yet again open her big mouth and say too much. She had already told him she loved him twice, and there was no telling what she wrote in the letters.

So far she'd made little effort to hide her feelings, and yet he had not remarked upon any of it. Hermione did not expect a declaration of undying love, but it would be nice if he said _something _on the matter. He was overly communicative on some topics, but completely silent on others.

But the main reason she didn't want to have that row was because she really did love Draco. Again their friendship was in jeopardy, and maybe this time he would not wish to mend their differences. She could not blame him for it.

"Should I bother asking what the card means?" she asked. The symbol, she noted, was a black scorpion with stinger raised. Yet, before he could respond, she waved a hand. "Never mind. Think about your answer while I'm in the bath."

xOxOxOx

By the time Hermione climbed out of the tub, her skin was pruny as well as scarred.

She was literally itching earlier, but now she was itching in a more figurative sense. She desperately wanted a drink. After the quarrel with Draco - and the slap she dealt - she certainly could have used a splash of firewhisky.

The owl from Harry didn't help matters. About five minutes into her soak a house elf delivered the letter. Hermione finally found the courage to read it ten minutes after that.

He had invited her to dinner at Grimmauld Place the following evening. The letter gave no hint of what sort of reception she should expect from him or Ginny.

So far she had avoided meeting with them out of fear and cowardice, but she had allowed the situation to remain untouched for too long. Eventually she would have to see them again, and she might as well do it tomorrow.

Rather than break her word to Lucius by glugging a bottle of firewhiskey, she dressed, retrieved her throwing knives from her room, and went to the dueling range. It contained a dueling platform, practice dummies, and an assortment of weapons adorning the walls, including massive swords that might have been forged in the middle ages.

She approached one of the dummies but paused a fair distance away. After a flick of her wrists the knives sunk into the dummy's chest. She pried them out and threw them again. Now the blades stabbed the dummy's groin. She couldn't help but smile at that, though it was inadvertent. She was aiming for the chest as before.

"Remind me never to anger you," said Lucius, sounding slightly amused.

"It was a happy accident." Hermione Summoned the knives with her wand and tossed them again. One struck the dummy's neck, but the other shot past and into the wall beyond.

"That was a killing blow," he said. "I see you have been practicing as I suggested."

"They help me to think. And to vent my frustration." She Summoned the knives and curled her fingers around the cool metal.

"May I?" he asked. Hermione remembered a similar scenario between her and Draco, only she didn't want to hand the knives over to him. She didn't mind handing them to Lucius, though.

He flung the knives, and they penetrated the dummy's throat, the blades so close there was very little empty space between them.

"Impressive," she said. "Why did you give the knives to me?"

"Because you lost your dagger in Blackburn's shoulder. Why you stabbed his shoulder and not his throat is a mystery."

"I meant to arrest him, not kill him."

"And if you had slit his throat instead?"

If she had slit his throat instead he wouldn't have mutilated her. Ingrid wouldn't have been kidnapped. The curse that silenced Hermione from speaking of him would have lifted. The photograph would never have appeared in the _Daily Prophet_. And she might not have been turned into a sleeper, if Blackburn was responsible for that as well.

On the other hand, with Blackburn dead Dean might have remained a missing person forever. Blackburn could be hiding him anywhere, in a place impossible to find.

Or she might have saved Dean's life by killing his captor.

"Do you find it entertaining to point out my mistakes?"

"You should not have left him alive."

"Don't worry," she said. "Next time I won't."

Lucius gave a tiny, unreadable smile but said nothing.

He observed her practice for a while after that, occasionally offering a tip or two to help her accuracy. Hermione had improved but there was plenty of room for more improvement. She had not yet tried to hit moving targets, which was a more realistic combat situation. Her opponent would not stand still as she lobbed knives at him.

"So," she said, when she had tired of practicing. "Do you intend to tell me what the card meant?"

"It is the symbol for an alliance founded between the first and second wizarding wars. I was a member. So were several other Death Eaters."

"What was the alliance's purpose?"

"To crush our enemies. We vowed that one member's enemy became the collective's enemy. We pooled our minds and our resources to aid one another when necessary."

"And why did Draco bring it to my attention?"

"Because he is attempting to intimidate me. It is not working, of course."

She rolled her eyes at his vague wording. "Is that all you care to say about this alliance?"

"I will tell you more when the time comes."

She would have liked to insist on more information, but what right did she have to nose into his past? The mere fact that he was willing to tell her more at a later date was good enough for her.

Lucius smiled, but it was not a smile borne of happiness; it was a smile that promised pain. "We shall have a talk with Pearl tomorrow, Love. Perhaps then you will be one step closer to sinking your blade into Blackburn again. Hopefully this time you will not merely stab him in the shoulder."

xOxOxOx

Hermione could see nothing but blackness, and she heard nothing save her own breaths. _Whoosh-whoosh _went her lungs, and she wondered if Lucius could hear them as well. She could not hear him at all.

A year ago if anyone told her she would one day find herself hiding in a crypt with Lucius Malfoy, she would have called them mad. But that was how life worked. No one truly knew what their future held.

Eventually there came a creaking noise and the pitter-patter of feet upon stone. Someone had begun to descend the stairs. Hermione strained her eyes to see who it was, but it was futile. The darkness was too absolute.

The pitter-patter of footsteps quieted, and a lantern flickered to life, casting a weak orange glow. Pearl's face was illuminated as she held out the lantern at arm's length. Two more steps she took and that was all, before she spotted Hermione and Lucius.

Lucius leaned against the stone casket in the center of the crypt. His cloak was a deep, forest green, and his blonde hair was woven into a single plait that spilled down his back. He had not bothered to glamour the scar across his neck, though it was mostly hidden by the cloak. Hermione had noticed he had not glamoured the scar since he was released from Azkaban. She had certainly been able to take in the sight of it on a regular basis.

He ran a gloved finger down the gilded horse adorning the top of the casket.

"Your daughter?" he asked. "How did she die?"

Pearl's hands curled into fists. "You should know. You killed her."

"Many have accused me of killing their relatives. If one were to believe the rumors I have single-handedly slaughtered half of Britain."

"It was a Death Eater raid in 1981, only a few months before Harry Potter vanquished You-Know-Who. There was a survivor, a boy who hid and watched everything. He said long, blonde hair hung from the side of your mask. He saw it as clear as day."

"And what did I supposedly do to your daughter?"

"Her name was _Diana_," Pearl snapped. "You struck her down with the killing curse as she begged for her life."

"Did this boy say what the other Death Eaters were doing at the time?"

Pearl grimaced. "Raping and torturing."

"Would you rather I gave her to the others? Or would you prefer she have the quick, painless death I supposedly offered her?"

"Diana should not have died at all!"

"She was dead the moment the Death Eaters attacked. The only thing left to chance was _how_ she died. You do realize there were other wizards with long, blonde hair amongst the Death Eater ranks. You can't really be sure who killed your daughter."

"_You_ aren't even sure if you killed her or not! Not even after learning her name."

"I killed many, and I did not ask for identification beforehand."

She spat on the floor. "You disgust me. And you," Pearl swiveled the lantern toward Hermione. "A Death Eater whore."

Hermione did her best not to show how the slur stung her. She had been called a whore two times in so many days. "You just spit on your own shoes."

"Enough small talk," said Lucius. "I'm sure you've gathered why we are here. You tried to kill me twice. Once by making Hermione a weapon. Once by killing curse near the prison gates. You will die either way, but if you tell me what I wish to know I will kill you as quickly and painlessly as your daughter."

"Or we can give her this," said Hermione. She held up a vial of Veritaserum, retrieved from her own personal stock.

"You have changed the plan, Love," said Lucius. He did not appear irked by this, but she knew he was.

Lucius, in fine alpha male fashion, had outlined what he planned to do prior to traveling to the crypt. He acted as though Hermione had no say on the matter, and she led him to believe she meant to comply. Meanwhile, she devised her own plan. When she realized why Pearl was so determined to kill Lucius, she was not quite as infuriated. And when she learned Pearl visited her daughter's crypt every evening, even though her daughter had been dead for decades, her ire had diminished even more.

"I'm sorry to ruin your fun, but this is the most logical solution," she said. "Three drops and she'll tell us everything we need to know. Follow up with a memory charm and there's no reason for bloodshed."

"And if she attempts to kill me again?" asked Lucius.

"I trust you can outwit _and_ outduel her."

Lucius reached out, and she thought he was about to touch her scars. But instead his leather glove caressed her hair. "Sorry, Love. But the answer is no."

"Why?"

"Because I am in charge, not you."

"You just want an excuse to hurt her."

"Yes," he said. There was that smile again, the one that promised pain. Pearl cringed...and yet Hermione instinctively slunk closer to him, like a moth to flame.

Pearl dashed for the stairs, but she did not make it far before Lucius whisked his wand. She flew backward, arms and legs wiggling, and landed atop Diana's casket. He whisked his wand again, and she rose into the air, spinning round and round, her shrieks ricocheting off the stone walls.

"I will bounce you about this crypt like a ball unless you give me a name," he said. "Who ordered you to pay Bussard to brainwash Hermione?"

The witch came to a sudden halt. Hermione was surprised Pearl wasn't sick after all the spinning, but all she did was glower, her gray hair tousled at her cheeks. "I will never tell you what you want to know."

"Once we use the memory charm you won't even remember you told us," said Hermione. As much as she despised Pearl, she didn't particularly want to see Lucius beat the witch to death. "You will still have your pride."

"This is not about pride, Whore. This is about love."

"Do not denigrate Hermione again," said Lucius. Before Pearl could respond – and judging by her expression it would have been yet another denigration – she was slammed face first into the crypt wall. When Lucius yanked her back, blood poured from her forehead, and she looked disoriented.

"I think you might have given her a concussion," said Hermione.

"If her plotting had succeeded I would be dead now. Perhaps at your hand."

Hermione _was_ angry about that, so angry there was a part of her that still wanted revenge. But there was another part that would rather use the Veritaserum and the memory charm and leave Pearl alive. This was similar to how she felt when her sleeper awakened. Her dark side and her light side were at war within her.

"Even as you face your enemies you show mercy," said Lucius. "That will be the death of you if you are not careful." He tipped his wand, and Pearl crashed into the ceiling, the floor, and the side of Diana's casket. There was a sickening _crunch_ as bones were broken, and Pearl's screaming ended.

"You left Healer Bussard alive," Hermione pointed out.

"He may have a use in future. I have no use for this one."

He tipped his wand again, but Hermione stepped in front of him and cupped his cheek. It was precisely how he touched her a few days before. His brows lifted, and his wand went motionless. Pearl froze in place, hovering in the air. Unconscious now, by the look of her.

"You can torture her all night and she won't break. She believes you killed her daughter. You of all people should know how much pain one will endure for love." Her thumb traced his cheek bone, then down the side of his chin to his neck scar. "Let me use the Veritaserum."

"You think a touch will manipulate me?"

"I'm hoping a touch will _persuade_ you. As well as the logical sense I am making. The method I'm proposing is simpler, faster, and there won't be a murder tied to us."

"If I leave her alive she will come after me again."

"And if she does we will be ready." Hermione stroked his neck scar. Despite the circumstances, her insides quivered with desire for him.

"I do not think you have it in you, Love."

"Maybe not in every situation." Now that she was touching him, she couldn't help but touch more. Her hand slid to his chest, and she felt the lean muscle beneath his robe. "Merlin, you're gorgeous."

"If you do not stop, I will have no choice but to touch you in return." His voice had dropped to a husky purr.

She hopped back. What was she doing, groping him like a molester? "I'm sorry," she blurted.

"You need not apologize, Love." But his eyes hardened, and Hermione knew their little moment had passed. "You have _persuaded_ me, but your manipulations will not always work." Another whisk of his wand, and Pearl gasped as she roused to consciousness.

Pearl hovered in the air at the perfect height. Hermione used a spell, and Pearl's jaw was wedged open as if by invisible hands. She poured three drops of the potion into Pearl's mouth.

"Who ordered you to pay Bussard?" asked Hermione. She had waited a few moments for the potion to kick in.

Pearl fought her tongue, but it would wag whether she wanted it to or not. "Minister Shacklebolt," she said finally.

Hermione's heart rolled in her chest. "Minister Shacklebolt ordered you to pay Bussard? Minister Shacklebolt gave you instructions to turn me into a sleeper with the directive to kill Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes."

Hermione didn't want to believe it, but Veritaserum was fool proof. Once introduced to the system it was impossible to lie. "Why?"

"He did not say."

"Why would he ask you?" asked Lucius.

"Because he knew I wanted you dead and wouldn't have moral objections."

There were loads of people who would have a parade if Lucius died. Why choose Pearl in particular?

"But you tried to kill Lucius when he was released," said Hermione.

"He killed my Diana! As soon as I saw his smug face, as soon as I saw him walking out of Azkaban a free man after all the evil he has done, I couldn't help myself. And I knew if I failed the sleeper would awaken and kill him."

"The sleeper failed, too," said Hermione, stating the obvious. "I never harmed your daughter, but you and Shacklebolt used me like a pawn."

"You deserve it. You're shagging Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione smirked. She couldn't see her own face, of course, but it felt like it was a perfect mimic of Lucius's trademark smirk. "We all do strange things for love, don't we, Pearl?"

xOxOxOx

Hermione had just arrived, and for the last several seconds the trio had been silent. Ordinarily there were cheery greetings and hugs all around, but not this evening.

After healing Pearl (Lucius was actually a decent healer - a vestige from his torturing days perhaps) and performing the memory charm, Hermione went to Grimmauld Place for the scheduled dinner she had been dreading.

"You're late," said Ginny, but she managed a small smile. The smile vanished very suddenly, though. "You have blood on your shoes."

Hermione did have globules of dried blood on her shoes. Pearl must have dripped on them when Hermione questioned her. She quickly Vanished the mess.

"Why is there blood on your shoes?" asked Harry.

"I interrogated someone earlier. And I need to talk to you about it."

She had decided, upon learning the minister was behind the plot against Lucius, to tell Harry what she could. Shacklebolt had changed since the war; he had become more politician than Auror, and his behavior reflected it. But she couldn't believe he would do something so iniquitous. Shacklebolt had always held tightly to his morals, despite his political machinations. He would not pay to have someone killed.

And there were things that didn't make sense. If Shacklebolt wanted Lucius dead, why not have him killed while he was still in Azkaban? Lucius was much more vulnerable locked in a cage without a wand than he was as a free man. Furthermore, why had Shacklebolt chosen _Blackburn_ to be the password? Were the two conspiring together?

"There's something we want to talk to you about as well," said Ginny.

That would be Lucius, Hermione knew. "I -"

She meant to say, _I understand_, but her body went rigid and it was impossible to finish. She would have fallen if not for Harry, who caught her before she could hit the floor, and Ginny Levitated her to the parlor sofa. It was truly a team effort.

Hermione loathed Full Body-Binds. Whatever her friends were up to, she wished they hadn't used magic against her.

"I'm sorry for this, I truly am," said Ginny. And she did seem sorry. She looked as if she hadn't slept a full night in several moons. "But we're worried about you, and we need to know…"

Ginny twirled her wand over Hermione and muttered incantation after incantation. At one point she paused to look up a specific spell. All the while Ginny had a grim determination about her, as if she was doing something she found unpleasant but necessary.

Ten minutes later, anger crossed Ginny's otherwise tired visage. She stared at Harry like he was somehow responsible for the results of her diagnostic tests. "I don't believe it. No trace of bespellment or potion. Not one trace!"

Harry sighed and glanced at Hermione. "_Rennervate_."

The counter-curse tingled as it crossed Hermione, and her muscles were hers again. She eyed Harry - he seemed unnerved but willing to hear her out - then Ginny, who had that wrathful aura she often adopted before hexing someone to kingdom come.

"How could you! He tried to kill me, Hermione. He tried to kill us _all. _How could you be so sick? You need help -"

"Ginevra," said Harry. His tone was much sharper than Hermione had ever heard him use with his wife. "You should have a cup of tea and calm down before talking to Hermione about this. In another room, preferably."

Ginny's mouth gaped. "You have the gall to kick me out?"

"If you keep talking you'll say something you regret. Something that might end your friendship with Hermione. I know you're angry, but I don't think you want to lose her forever."

"I want to talk about this _now_."

"You're acting like Ron when he has one of his temper tantrums. How do you handle Ron when he starts acting like this?"

"How _dare_ you-"

"On your way, then," said Harry. The parlor door swung open.

Ginny's complexion was Gryffindor red, and she seemed on the verge of stomping her feet. "I am not going anywhere. I am not one of the children and I should not be treated as such."

"Don't make me force you out," said Harry. "You can return when you've cooled down."

Hermione watched this unfold in astonishment. She had no idea Harry actually had a backbone with Ginny. He always seemed to overindulge her.

"Fifteen minutes," she said. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes." She stormed out, and Hermione guessed Harry might be sleeping on the sofa for the next few days.

Harry peered at the ceiling as if to pray to Merlin for patience. When he turned to Hermione he had on his Auror face, the detached one he used at work. "It seems Lucius Malfoy has not compelled you in any way. You've chosen to love him of your own free will."

Hermione sensed he meant to say more and remained silent.

"I'm sorry for the way we went about this," he said. "But we weren't sure if Malfoy corrupted you or not. Simply asking if you were compelled would have been useless."

Hermione tried to see the situation from Harry's point of view. She _had_ been acting out of character of late, and he believed it was impossible for her to actually love Lucius. The logical assumption was that Lucius compelled her.

So she swallowed back her anger. She had been doing a lot of that lately. "I won't say I appreciated it, but I might have done the same if I was in your place."

Harry plucked off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Hermione had wondered how long it would take him to do it. "First you told Ginny you had feelings for Mr. Malfoy. Then there was the photograph of the two of you snogging. Then you decided to sacrifice your career rather than denounce him. We thought he might have paid someone to hit you with a spell or dose you with a potion."

"I love him," she said, and Harry's eyes shut. Hearing the truth had disturbed him, in spite of the fact that he already knew. "Lucius cares for me. He has done good things for me."

"I know you've already chosen him, but consider this. Everyone who loves you is concerned about this relationship you have with him. There is a reason for that."

"What do you fear will happen? If he intended to harm me he's had ample opportunity."

"He is capable of anything. If harming you ever benefited him in some fashion I believe he would do it. He would stab you in the back and wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

"Like I told Draco, I have no illusions about what sort of man he is, but I trust him."

"That is what worries me. You think you're special, that he will treat you differently from everyone else in the world, but what if you're wrong?"

"That is a possibility," she admitted. "I'm certain he would never physically hurt me, so the only thing I'm risking is my heart. And if he breaks it…" She shook her head. "I have my doubts on that front, but I have to decide whether he's worth it or not, whatever the outcome."

"There is also the chance he is using you for some other purpose. He is a schemer, a conniver. You may be playing some part in one of his conspiracies and you aren't even aware of it."

Her thoughts jumped to the alliance of the scorpion. "What part could I play? I'm no longer an Auror and my reputation is shite. What would he need me for?"

Harry shrugged. "That I can't tell you, but I advise you to keep it in mind. You might be putting your faith in the wrong person."

"If I can't trust him there's no reason to have a relationship with him at all. I might be putting my faith in the wrong person, but the only other alternative is to end things with him. And I can't do that. Even if the scars don't heal, and he leaves me because I'm a mutilated freak…I'm half expecting him to, and I'm trying to prepare myself for it. I want him in my life for as long as I can have him."

_I have to be realistic_, she thought. _If Lucius is not attracted to me because of the scars it won't be his fault. If I was a man I wouldn't be attracted to me. Real life isn't like Beauty and the Beast._

Casting herself as the Beast made her feel tired and sad and bitter. "I don't want to talk about Lucius anymore. I want to tell you what has happened to me in the last few days." She went on to explain how Shacklebolt conspired to turn her into a sleeper, and an edited version of what occurred thereafter. She didn't mention the torture of Healer Bussard or Pearl…that would not be a smart thing to tell the head of the Auror Division.

"That's impossible," said Harry.

"I gave Pearl Veritaserum. Shacklebolt ordered her to do it."

"Maybe it wasn't Shacklebolt. Maybe it was someone polyjuiced or under a glamour."

"Maybe," she said. "But until we know for sure watch your back. He's proven just how ruthless he is."

"Shacklebolt, or whoever, knows the plan failed. You'll be a loose end."

"We know what happens to loose ends." _They are usually killed. And I'm not the only loose end. Lucius is one, too. _"I have a favor to ask. I need you to bring me those files from cold cases. The ones you stopped me from taking the day I was sacked."

"Those are confidential Ministry files, Hermione."

"And you're the savior of the wizarding world. Tell crotchety old Mr. Butterfield to kiss your arse. You remember the keyword spell and the parameters?"

Hermione was reminded of one of her visits with Lucius, when he was still in Azkaban. He mentioned it was lucky she had a powerful friend like Harry. And she said she would not start using her friends to perpetuate her own agendas…and yet, here she was. If Harry was caught copying files for Hermione there would be repercussions, especially if Shacklebolt was colluding with Blackburn.

"The killer who used Lucius's potion? He's connected to this somehow," she said. "I believe he and Shacklebolt are in league together. I might learn something from the files that will explain what their agenda is."

"I'm the head of the Auror Division. I made an oath to uphold the law."

"So did Shacklebolt, but he turned me into a sleeper and I nearly killed someone." Harry still seemed unconvinced, so she pressed on. "We need to learn more about our enemies, and we can't do that unless I see the files. Until then I'm in danger. I'm a loose end, remember? And I might be able to find Dean as well."

She didn't like manipulating Harry, and she didn't like putting him in danger. The last time she asked someone to do this he ended up missing, but her options were limited now that she was no longer an Auror.

Blackburn had gone to great lengths to hide his past. The files could reveal some of his secrets, and could also lend a clue to Dean and Ingrid's whereabouts. They might already be dead, but she refused to label them as such until their bodies were found. She had to proceed as if they were alive.

"How are Shacklebolt and the killer connected?" asked Harry. "What aren't you telling me?"

_Too much, and not by choice_. "I literally can't answer that. I wish I could."

Harry frowned. "I have a bad feeling about this, but if you're right...I will bring the files to you as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Harry."

"I should go check on Ginny."

He was gone for some time. Hermione could do nothing but fidget with anxiety. The confrontation with Ginny would not be pleasant. Ginny was the first of her friends to accept Draco, but it was doubtful she would ever accept Lucius. Draco had never tried to kill Ginny, but Lucius had. And that was only one reason among many Ginny hated him.

When Harry finally returned, Ginny was not the only Weasley accompanying him. Hermione suddenly understood why he was absent for so long.

Ron's face was tight with barely restrained anger. He stared at Hermione as if she had betrayed him. Ginny didn't seem as hostile as before, but her unhappiness was clear. Had Ginny invited her brother? It was unlikely he just happened to drop in.

_And now I have to walk the gauntlet again, except this time with my best mates. _Hermione steeled herself for the conflict.

"If you don't stop seeing Malfoy I can no longer be your friend," said Ron. Harry cast him a reproachful look, but Ron ignored it. "I can't believe you would have such little respect for yourself. He doesn't care about you. He's using you for some purpose or other, and you're letting him."

"It might seem that way on the surface, but there are facts you don't know."

"I've heard about the memories he gave you. I wager they were doctored, and even if they weren't, they do not excuse what he's done. He's evil, Hermione. At the Department of Mysteries he ordered the Death Eaters to kill everyone but Harry. That includes you."

"I haven't forgotten his past behavior," she said.

"Ron makes a good point," said Ginny. She seemed to be struggling to keep her temper in check. "He wanted you dead. Why the sudden change of heart? And don't say it was because he had time to grow and reflect while he was in prison. He hasn't changed any."

Hermione still didn't know why Lucius had offered his memories, why he had decided to seduce her. "There was a war then," she said. "We were on opposite sides and he was following the Dark Lord's orders."

"Maybe this will change your mind," said Ron. The coldness in his tone made Hermione uneasy. It was better for Ron to be angry than cold. When he grew cold, he could be cruel. He removed an envelope from his robe and enlarged it. "Look at what's inside."

The envelope was the size of a sheet of parchment and stuffed to the brim. She could guess at the contents by feeling it. Her unease flared. "I don't have to look at these. They won't change anything."

"Then why are you afraid to see?"

"I'm not afraid." But she was. And yet, she'd claimed time and again she knew what sort of man Lucius was and how she accepted him regardless. If she didn't look she would refute her stance, and she would always wonder what the envelope contained.

She upended the envelope and poured the photographs onto the sofa cushion beside her. They spread in all directions, and each was more gruesome and awful than the next.

Ron grabbed one from the pile and shoved it in her face. It showed a corpse that was so disfigured it was difficult to tell whether the person was male or female. This was the result of hours of torture. "She was twenty years old. A Muggle-born like you. She died during a Death Eater raid Lucius Malfoy admitted he participated in during his trial."

"That doesn't mean _he_ did this to her."

"Wake up, Hermione! You of all people know how the Death Eaters worked. They shared their kills. And even if he didn't do it he was still there when it happened." He snatched up another picture, this of a boy who had been beheaded. Someone had arranged his body to sit upright in a chair, with his severed head on a table before him. "He was twelve years old."

She pushed Ron's hand, and the photograph, away from her. "Lucius would not do that."

"You're kidding yourself if you think he wouldn't do something like this." He shoved the photograph in her face again. "The man you've invited into your bed did this."

"Have you forgotten that I've watched the memories of other Death Eaters? Do you think I haven't ever seen what Lucius did during raids?"

Ron's face scrunched with revulsion, and his nostrils flared much like Draco's had the day he grabbed Hermione's wrist. "You've seen him kill in the pensieve." It seemed Ron hadn't considered that. He looked as if he might be sick. "You've seen already, and you're still shagging him."

"Yes, I've seen. And despite what everyone thinks, in none of those memories did he ever torture anyone. He was more…humane."

What she witnessed in the pensieve memories showed Lucius using the Killing Curse and nothing more, much like the way Pearl's daughter was murdered. The only time Lucius was overtly sadistic was when he had a personal grievance with his victim. Then he was truly nasty. She had seen that, too, in one of the memories, but she would not tell Ron about it.

"He murdered innocent people," said Ginny. "Whether he was humane or tortured them to death, the outcome was the same."

Hermione swept up the photographs and dropped them into the envelope. They hadn't shaken her as much as she feared. She knew how Lucius operated during the raids. Someone else had mutilated the young woman and beheaded the boy, of that she was positive. Granted, it was inexcusable that he was involved in those deaths, but what choice did he have? He was following the Dark Lord's orders. When the Dark Lord commanded him to kill, he had to obey or risk the lives of Draco and Narcissa.

She turned to Ron. "If Lavender or Molly or Ginny was ever kidnapped, and you were told they would be killed if you didn't kill another person, would you do it? Or would you let the people you love die instead?"

"That has nothing to do with Lucius Malfoy," he said.

"It has _everything_ to do with Lucius. That was the exact situation he was in. If Lucius didn't obey the Dark Lord threatened to kill his wife and son. Would you react differently in his place? In his mind, he had to kill those people, and he did it quickly and with as little pain as possible. He did not relish it, and I don't think he would have done it at all if Voldemort hadn't used his family against him. I don't think he would have even supported the Dark Lord in the first place if he hadn't threatened to kill Lucius's mother. I'm not saying he doesn't have a Dark streak. He does enjoy hurting those who have hurt him, but that is a matter of vengeance."

"I would have never cooperated with the Dark Lord," said Ron. "I would have found a way to save my wife and son rather than place them in more danger."

"How?"

"I would have run. Or asked Dumbledore for help."

"If he ran the Dark Lord would have found him. And there was no guarantee Dumbledore could keep Draco and Narcissa safe. Would you risk the lives of your loved ones in that case?"

Ron scowled, and Hermione wondered if it was because he was frustrated she wasn't convinced by his arguments, or if he was beginning to see life from Lucius' point of view.

"He was put in an impossible position," Hermione went on. "Maybe you don't agree with how he handled it, but he did what he thought was best. And if you recall, the moment he was able he defected. The Death Eaters consider him a traitor. You saw him during the final battle. Was he killing, or was he shouting for his son?"

She Levitated the envelope toward Ron, and he caught it mid air. "I don't expect you to like him, and I have no intention of ever putting you and him in the same room together. But I love him. If you still want to end our friendship because of that, then that is your decision. It will not sway me to change my mind. Now, I apologize, but I have lost my appetite and will need a rain check for dinner. Hopefully I will see all of you later."


	19. Destiny

_I don't own JK Rowling's characters. _

_Thanks everyone for your reviews and alerts!_

Chapter Nineteen

Destiny

Hermione materialized in the receiving room at the manor in the mountains. She barely made it into the corridor when Lucius met her.

"How did you fare at the Potter house?" he asked. It was as if he had been waiting nearby in case her confrontation with her friends went badly. She was overcome by a soppy feeling, and she stroked his hand with her fingertips. Her fingertips weren't as scarred, (the treatments had restored some of their tactility as well) and since she cupped his cheek in the crypt she'd been a bit freer with touching. If not for the scars, it would have been almost impossible for her _not_ to touch him constantly.

He wound his fingers between hers, and she nearly yanked her hand back…but she didn't. When she made no protest, he began to guide her down the corridor. _He treats me delicately_, she mused. _Like a stray dog that might bolt if approached in the wrong fashion._

"It didn't go well," she said. "But there wasn't quite as much screaming as I imagined."

"Did you manage to have dinner with them?"

"No, but I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten all day, Love."

"My eating habits are my business. And you sound like my grandmother."

He chuckled. "Maybe I do, but someone has to look after you. You've proven how you tend to yourself when left to your own devices."

She snorted as they entered the dining room and he pulled out a chair for her. It was the one to the left of his chair at the head of the table. Thankfully, after the night they had their first sterile dinner together, she hadn't been seated so far away from him.

Hermione dropped into it, and when he released her hand, she was taken aback by her level of disappointment. "Fine, I will eat, but I don't want anything fancy."

"Order whatever you desire," he said, and summoned Binty.

She politely asked for a small portion of shepherd's pie and a cup of espresso. Shepherd's pie was her version of comfort food, and she needed a caffeine fix. She was exhausted from her visit at Grimmauld Place.

Binty popped out to fill the order after Lucius requested a cup of espresso. He had already eaten.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

"I don't want to offend you."

"If you think I'm unaware of their opinions, you are wrong. What you tell me will not be a surprise."

Again he wanted to Talk. She smiled, but the smiling stopped as she considered her visit. "Ginny called me sick and said I needed help. Ron showed me crime scene photographs from some of your Death Eater raids. Harry was calm, though. We actually had a reasonable conversation."

"I admit I am surprised Mr. Weasley showed you photographs."

Hermione tried to divine what Lucius was thinking. Did he worry the pictures had damaged her view of him? If he did, he was not letting on. "I've already seen you in action during raids, Lucius. You were in some of the memories I collected from other Death Eaters."

The corners of his mouth tightened. If he wasn't carefully schooling his face it might have been a grimace. "I see. I wondered if that was so."

"It's so," she said, then thanked Binty when the elf popped in with the espressos. Hermione added cream and stirred, only vaguely hearing the soft _pop_ as the elf left again. "You were almost always masked, but I recognized how you moved, and later, your pattern."

"My pattern?"

"You would enter, cast Killing Curses, and exit as soon as possible. You took no joy in it. When the others urged you to go any further than that you always had an excuse ready. It was the same way Professor Snape operated. I viewed a few memories where he was present as well." She cautiously sipped the espresso, as it was steaming hot. "There was an exception, however. I'm curious what the poor man did to you. His name was Snodgrass."

She vividly recalled the pain Snodgrass endured under Lucius's wand. It had been sickening to view, but it was clearly an act of revenge. There was a personal feel to it.

When she first observed Lucius' methods, she thought he was a "humane" killer because he believed Muggle-borns were beneath him, and he would not deign to waste his time torturing them. His victims were like cattle to be slaughtered swiftly and efficiently. Ridding the world of them should not have to be a messy business, after all.

But once she realized Professor Snape operated in a similar fashion, she began to doubt if her opinion of Lucius was accurate. It wasn't until she watched Lucius' memories that all the pieces fell into place.

"Snodgrass overheard something he shouldn't have heard," said Lucius. "A conversation between Severus and I that shed light on our true allegiances. Snodgrass tried to blackmail me. I pretended to agree to the arrangement, and Severus concocted some fabrication that persuaded the Dark Lord Snodgrass should die."

"His death wasn't quick," she said. "Yet you offered to kill Pearl quickly. You did kill her daughter, didn't you? That's why you offered Pearl a painless death." His sadistic side took over when she refused to give him the answers he craved, but he did initially tell her he would kill her quickly and painlessly.

"I believe you already know the answer to that."

When Pearl recounted how Diana died, Hermione figured it out then. Now Lucius had confirmed it. "But you enjoyed torturing Bussard."

"Because of what he did to you, Love. I have witnessed what one suffers to become a sleeper. It's painful and time consuming."

Her twisted side was showing again. She was flattered he would torture someone in her honor, though that wasn't his only motive. He wanted information from Bussard, and Bussard had programmed Hermione to kill him.

"I don't remember any of it," she said.

"And I hope you never reacquire your memories of it."

Which reminded her of Draco. "How did Draco reacquire his memories? I saw you mentally battle with Bussard and win. Surely you can perform a simple memory charm."

"I suspect his robe or his ring is bespelled to reduce the effects of memory charms."

Draco did always wear a gold ring bearing the Malfoy family crest. He might hate Lucius, but he was proud of his lineage. "He never told me."

"Why would he?"

"Because we were partners for years. Because he should have known he could trust me. I would never Obliviate him."

"It was wise of him not to tell anyone, and unwise of him to reveal it to me."

"You act as if you plan to Obliviate him again."

"Nothing is set in stone, Love. I don't intend to, but I will if I must."

Binty delivered Hermione's shepherd's pie. The scent sparked her appetite, and she ate with more vigor than she thought she would. "Were you angry I told him the truth?"

"Yes. But then I realized I could simply watch how the situation with Draco unfolds. If necessary I can sort it out again."

She laughed. "To Obliviate him successfully you would have to strip him bare. But I don't think you should. We were Aurors, but we did our fair share of illegal activities when we had to."

"You're referring to Reginald Langley."

Hermione nearly startled. Reginald Langley was the Dark wizard Draco killed in cold blood for hitting Hermione with the bone shattering curse. Draco claimed it was self-defense, and Hermione backed him up. Both had lied to the ministry about what truly happened that day. "How do you know about that?"

"I make it a habit of knowing many things, particularly where Draco is concerned."

"A direct answer every now and then would be nice," she said, but not with rancor. Lucius hoarded secrets like dragons hoarded gold and jewels. In a way he treated everyone like they were a potential enemy, and he found it prudent to hide how much knowledge he had from his enemies.

"I will never stab you in the back," she said. "But my friends think you would do it to me, if there was ever a time it would be to your advantage."

"Do you agree with them?"

"I don't know. Snogging me was a stab to Draco's back, and he's your son. So…maybe."

"Things aren't always how they seem," he said.

"Another vague response from Lucius Malfoy." Now she was a little irked with him. He could have at least said he had no intention of betraying her, even if it was a lie.

"Hermione, there is an entire world behind the scenes that you aren't even aware of. I intend to show you that world, but not tonight."

Now _that_ was intriguing. "Does this world have anything to do with the alliance of the scorpion?"

"Partially, yes."

"You once demanded I give you full disclosure. When I resisted, you purposely angered me until I spilled everything, and you dissolved my glamour against my will."

He smirked a bit. "Brutish, I know, but I achieved my objective."

"Perhaps I should copy your methods. I can be quite Machiavellian myself. Or would that be dangerous?"

"It seems you wish to learn how far I am willing to go if I ever betray you, or if you displease me."

"Merlin, you really can cut to the quick of it, can't you?" Sometimes Lucius was perfectly vague, but sometimes he was perfectly blunt.

"If I ever do something…harmful to you, it would be for your own good. Because I have your best interests at heart. But I have no intention of ever hurting you."

She dropped her fork; the conversation had made her lose her appetite. "Yet you forsee circumstances where you might find it necessary, like you do with Draco. Why don't you just tell me what you're hiding? Haven't I proven that I can be trusted? That I will accept you, no matter what I learn about your past?" She pushed her plate away from her, and Binty popped in long enough to retrieve it and pop out again. The process was complete in half a second.

"Have you ever heard the expression curiosity killed the cat?"

She balked. "You're threatening to kill me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione." His voice was like a whip, and anger penetrated the surface of his mask. "You know what happened with Claudia. Do you think I would ever do something like that again?"

"You place me and Claudia in the same category?" she blurted.

"My point is, if you were to learn certain truths at the wrong time, you would find yourself in a jeopardous situation. The threat is not from me, but there are others who do pose a threat. Furthermore, I think you would put yourself in even more jeopardy if you know more than you do, because of how you would react to the information."

"So you claim you're hiding things to protect me. And you will no doubt refuse to tell me who these dangerous others are if I asked. You are not an easy man to care for, Lucius. I'm tempted to dose you with Veritaserum."

But her mood had lightened, and she didn't really mean it. Lucius avoided answering the question about her and Claudia, but he said enough. _I think he might love me_, she thought. She literally had to crush her lips together to avoid grinning from ear to ear.

Lucius took her hand, as it was resting on the table between them. This time she didn't think about withdrawing. "I would never become violent with you," he said.

"I know. That wasn't what I meant. What I meant is that you would Obliviate me, or lie to me, or manipulate me in other ways in order to keep your secrets. If there is a threat out there, I need to know what it is so I can protect myself. You aren't omnipotent. You can't protect me twenty-four/seven."

An image flashed: that of Lucius, pouncing in front of the spell meant for her…dying to protect her.

"When I was in the coma, I had a recurring dream. It was all I dreamt the whole week I was unconscious. Blackburn snapped my wand and then cast a spell at me. You jumped in front of me, to save me, and it killed you. It was dreadful. The dream looped over and over again, and each time I experienced it, it was like the first time. You died in my arms, over and over again." She shook her head. "If something like that ever happened, how could I live with myself?"

Lucius had gone very still…too still. She eyed him closely but tried to seem casual. "If you ever died to save me it would kill me inside. You would drag us both with you." This was true, though she had worded it rather dramatically in order to see his reaction.

Either he had figured out what she was doing, or he had no reaction, for she detected nothing. He plucked up her hand and kissed her bent fingers. "It was only a dream, Love."

"Are you using your mojo to distract me?"

He blinked. "My what?"

"Your mojo. Your…sexual appeal. Kissing my fingers to divert me from the topic we're discussing."

"I had no idea I could divert you so easily. I will have to remember that." He began kissing her fingers again, one after the other, causing jolts of delicious pleasure. It was difficult, but she managed to pull herself out of it.

"You _are_ trying to distract me." She wrenched her hand from his grasp. "Lucius, please tell me that was just a dream." Hermione didn't believe in Seers and visions, but miraculous things did occur in the magical world. Such as Harry being hit with the Killing Curse twice and surviving both times.

"You act as if I am lying to you, but why would I lie about it? If it is a vision of the future how would I know?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure. But I sense something in you."

"You are jumping to conclusions, Love."

"Am I? May I see your wand?"

"My wand is bespelled so only I can touch it. If you were to touch it you would be hit with a very Dark curse that would literally turn you inside out. Most Death Eaters use this spell on their wands. You should _never_ flippantly grab another witch or wizard's wand."

She nearly reminded him she was a fully trained Auror. Not touching other wands without checking for bespellments beforehand was one of the first lessons they were taught. But she decided not to digress. "Then remove the spell or simply show it to me."

He hesitated, but finally withdrew it from his robe. His wand was fairly long, eighteen inches, and was constructed of elm. She wondered what the core was.

"This is how your wand appeared in the dream. It always disappeared under the snow, so I only saw it for a second, but I had the dream so many times…I'm certain this is the wand from the dream. Every detail I remember, anyway."

"You've seen my wand before, Love. That doesn't prove anything."

But Hermione wasn't so sure.

xOxOxOx

_I have your gift_, said the letter. Harry's handwriting was the same messy scrawl he'd used since he was a first year at Hogwarts. _Meet me at Grimmauld Place tonight, and I will give it to you after dinner._

The gift was the cold case files, or so she hoped. It had been several days since she asked Harry to copy them. He also mentioned dinner at his home…which meant Ginny had also invited her? It seemed Harry had learned how to be subtle.

She Vanished the letter and returned her attention to the many notes she had taken while investigating Blackburn and his murders. Hermione had "reopened" the investigation, so to speak, the day prior in preparation for the cold case files.

It was all for naught, as she had no new revelations that might help her take down Blackburn. She did, however, find the address to the mysterious manor, which she had placed among her notes during her recuperation after the coma. Hermione had not visited Deacon manor herself because she would not be able to crack the wards, and she could not ask Ginny to do it.

She found it unlikely that she would learn anything Draco did not when he inspected the manor, but she wanted to see it with her own eyes. The reporter, Gribble, might have been wrong when he said the manor was somehow connected to Blackburn…but he also might have been right.

But who could she ask to disable the wards? She mulled over this for a while until the answer literally walked in.

"You have been working for hours," said Lucius. "You haven't eaten, and you have hardly left this room."

Hermione had holed up in Lucius' library and spread her notes across the table there. The only time she left was for her daily treatment with Healer Coruja and the hour she wore the accursed cream. "You are absolutely correct. I need a change of environment. How proficient are you at ward-cracking?"

His brow lifted. "Why, Love?"

She showed him the address of the mysterious manor and explained how she had acquired it. "I'm not sure how serious the wards are. Draco and Ginny went there, but Ginny can crack through just about anything."

"I am more than proficient," he said. Lucius was never one to shy away from declaring how skilled he thought he was. "Would you like to go there now?"

"Yes, please."

He offered one of his mischievous smiles and embraced her tightly. The Side-Along was not nearly as nausea inducing since she materialized in Lucius' arms. She bowed to temptation and let him hold her for a few seconds longer than needed before detaching from him.

Deacon manor had definitely gone to seed. It drooped to one side; a strong gust of wind could send it toppling it over.

"The only thing holding the manor together is magic," said Lucius. He was busy with his wand, determining what sort of wards he was dealing with and how to crack them. "This might take about ten minutes. If I am not careful I might trigger an alarm."

This was why Hermione did not ask him a hundred different questions about ward cracking while he worked. She kept silent so he could concentrate, but she did cast a spell. Four, red glowing zeroes appeared in the air before her. They began to count the seconds.

When they were at 00:45 Lucius spoke. "Timing me, Love?" she heard a smile in his voice, a smile she couldn't see because his back was to her.

"You might want to stop talking and start working. It's already been…fifty seconds."

"In that case I shall have these wards cracked in eight minutes."

Hermione snorted. She knew he would want to beat the ten minutes he'd initially given himself if she timed him. And she was curious how quickly he could complete the task. Hermione had familiarized herself with ward cracking prior to finding Blackburn's note in the Kneazle's grave, but all she had really learned was that it was a complex subject that required years of study and hands-on experience.

She kept a sharp eye on their surroundings, searching for signs of Disillusionments or anything suspicious. If Lucius accidentally triggered an alarm the master of the wards could ambush them.

"I am finished," he said finally.

"Seven minutes and fifty-five seconds," she announced, and allowed him a look at the numbers before she made them disappear.

"I've rerouted the wards so that we can Apparate anywhere on the property. Once we leave here, the wards will return to normal and there should be no indication anyone tweaked them. But we should not Apparate directly into the manor, not at first. I want to inspect it closer beforehand."

She and Lucius were already walking through the manor's front gates. They were rusted and in generally poor condition from the elements. He continued to move his wand now and then, searching for booby traps or other dangers.

Ward tweaking made her think of the warden of Azkaban. "Warren Crabapple."

Lucius turned to look at her. Now they were ascending a set of wide, stone steps, which were cracked and crumbling in some areas. "What about him?"

"Did you pay him to tweak the wards in your cell? How else could you have taught yourself how to do wandless Legilimens?"

"This is a good place to stop."

Hermione halted, and he began waving his wand around again. She held her tongue to let him work in peace. Eventually he went still. "It is safe to Apparate inside." And he was gone before she could say anything more.

She followed suit and found herself in a vast foyer. The walls and ceiling had fissures in the plaster that resembled spider webs, and they weren't the only spider webs. Real webs were in abundance, especially on the chandelier, which was so shrouded in white it might have been cocooned.

Lucius had paused to wait for her, and together they began exploring the ground level. It soon became clear that, besides the spider webs and layers of dust, the manor was empty. Each room they entered was bare.

"Draco said there was nothing to find here," she said, and her voice echoed wildly. "But I wanted to see for myself."

They eventually finished with the ground level and climbed the stairs. At the apex was a wide corridor, which dead ended at a massive window. The window was so dusty it was impossible to see through, so she cast a few Scourgifies until there was a clean space wide enough for her and Lucius to take in the view beyond the glass. From this vantage point she would be able to examine the grounds in the rear of the manor. She imagined they would be overgrown and offer nothing of value, but she was curious.

When she had her first glimpse of the grounds, she gasped, and a mixture of shock and panic and terror exploded in her. She pressed her face closer, hoping that she was wrong, that she was imagining it…but she wasn't.

She turned on Lucius, who was staring out the window with astonishment. He felt her gaze and his expression abruptly grew cold. "You lied to me! You recognize this place for the same reason I do!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but she grabbed him and Apparated them to the very grounds they had just spied through the glass.

She recognized this place because she had seen it in her dreams so many times. The only thing different was the lack of snow on the ground, but everything else…there was even a vine choked chapel looming in the distance.

Hermione found the little embankment he would roll down, and the spot where his wand would disappear in the snow, and the spot where she would hold him as he died.

This place was real. _Real_. And if this place was real…

"Hermione -"

But she seized him and Apparated them to her flat. If Lucius was to die at the manor, she wanted him as far away from it as possible.

The moment they materialized, she pushed back from him. She hadn't been to her flat in weeks, and it was on its way to being as dusty as the manor. But she didn't want to be underneath his wards, in case he should try to Obliviate her, or do anything shady. He lied when she asked if it was just a dream, which meant he did not want her to know.

"You didn't realize that was the place where it would happen until you looked out the window, but I know you recognized it…_Expelliarmos_!" His wand flew through the air, and too late, she remembered it had that horrid curse upon it. She stepped out of its path and it clanked to the floor, rolling beneath her sofa.

"There is no reason to disarm me," he said. "I have no intention of stripping your memory, or whatever it is you suspect I might do."

"And I'm supposed to believe that? You lied to me." Her hands were shaking. She curled and uncurled her fingers and tried to breathe evenly. Raging at him, or becoming too overemotional, would be counterproductive.

"I give you my word that I will not cast any spells upon you. The memories are yours and I will not try to steal them." And then, as casually as you please, he settled on her sofa and motioned for her to sit as well.

He was so elegant and gorgeous and calm…and absolutely infuriating. She wanted to throttle him she was so furious. But beneath that was a raw fear that made her feel desperate. _In the dream there was snow on the ground. We only have a few __weeks before it will be too warm for snow. If that was a vision, and not just a dream…_

"I won't sit," she said. Instead she paced in front of her fireplace. "Now _I_ am demanding full disclosure, Lucius."

"In the memories I gave you, there was a ring you once asked about," he said without preamble.

"The hideous ring with an eyeball rather than a stone."

"It is called the Cyclopean ring. According to legend, the Cyclops asked Hades for the ability to see the future. He granted their request, but they were only able to see a vision of their own deaths."

Hermione went rigid. "When you put on the ring…"

"It gives one a vision of their own death. The ring is extremely old, and it is the only of its kind in existence. The eye supposedly once belonged to an actual Cyclops. Whether that is true or not is unknown."

She thought of his memory, the one where he was standing on the cliff edge at the cottage by the sea. He was wearing the ring, and he told Professor Snape, _I won't die on this day_. Because he already knew how he would die.

"While Claudia and I were together, I often worried what would become of me if the Dark Lord learned of my love for her. I stole the ring from one of my father's safes, but I was reluctant to use it."

Yes, he was reluctant in the memory when he and Claudia were in bed together. The ring was on a chain around his neck when he considered putting it on.

"For a long time after I killed Claudia, I didn't care whether I lived or died. That broke through my fear and I slipped the ring on my finger."

"What did you see?"

"You know what I have seen because you have seen it as well."

"The dream. The bloody _dream_." Her wand snapping. Lucius, pouncing in front of the spell meant for her. Rolling down the embankment…All the blood rushed from her face. She had suspected as much, but to hear it…"No. That won't happen. I _won't_ let it."

"You can't change the ring's vision, Love. This is our path, and no matter what we do we cannot veer from it."

These words were reminiscent of another conversation she had recently. "You told Professor Snape about your vision. He mentioned my path was set, and that it would not have a happy ending."

Lucius nodded. "Each time I put on the ring, I experience the vision as if I'm Future Lucius. I'm _inside_ his skin. I feel what he feels, see what he sees, as if I am truly him. When I saw the wizard cast the spell, knowing your wand had snapped…Then, later, as I died, you held me in your arms.

"For years I did not know who the witch was in my vision. I was only able to see you in profile, and very quickly. When you held me after I was hit by the spell, my sight was blurred and your face was not entirely clear. It never crossed my mind that it could be you when you were a girl. Your hair was bushy, and a lighter color, and you were not yet a woman. Later I saw a photograph of you in the _Daily Prophet_, taken your first day at the Auror Academy. And I thought, _This is the woman from my vision_. The way you moved, and your changed appearance…I wasn't certain at first, and I didn't want to believe it. That it could be _you_…"

Hermione stared into the fireplace, trying to make sense of what she had heard. The bloody dream was real. She had watched Lucius's actual death over and over again while in the coma. She had even seen a portion of the vision earlier than that, when Draco was in St. Mungo's.

Lucius and Professor Snape insisted there was no changing the future, but Hermione refused to accept it. All Lucius had to do was _not_ jump in front of the spell. How hard could that be?

"Why have I seen the vision?"

"There is a spell that allows another to see it, but only those who are in the vision itself. I paid Theodore Nott to cast this spell upon you. I believe you were in Mr. Flint's club when it happened."

Someone had bumped into her that night at The Lotus, and she'd felt a prickling across her scalp as if hit with a spell. The man was familiar, both in gait and voice. That was because it was Nott under a glamour. She would recognize his voice and gait; she went to school with him for years. But they were never close, so she wouldn't have figured out his identity from such limited contact.

"Why show the vision to me?"

"I wanted to prepare you for what is to come."

She shook her head. "This is ridiculous. All you have to do is not jump in front of the spell! You don't have to die."

"And if I don't then you will die."

"No, I won't, because we have foreknowledge of the events that will occur."

"It is not that simple. Do you know how many wizards before me have tried to change the ring's vision? The future it reveals cannot be changed."

"But the past can be changed," she said, thinking of how she used the Time-Turner to rescue Sirius Black and save Buckbeak's life. "If the past can be changed so can the future."

"You are misunderstanding, Love. There are pieces missing from the vision - important pieces." There _were_ pieces missing in her dream. "These are the pieces that can stop me from changing the outcome. And the ring has also been known to twist pertinent details for the same purpose - to thwart anyone from altering their destiny. The only aspect of the vision that we know for certain is genuine is the manner of my death."

Blackburn would kill Lucius. _Unless I kill Blackburn first…_She gripped the fireplace mantle until her fingers throbbed. "I won't allow you to sacrifice your life for mine."

"It is fitting, though, don't you think? I could not save Claudia, a Muggle-born I loved. But I _will_ save you."

Hermione's head snapped toward him. What was he saying?

"I have slipped on the ring countless times," he said. "As I already explained, I experience the vision as if I'm actually in future Lucius's skin. I know how I felt when you held me as I died. For years you were a mystery, but I knew what would happen between us. I have been waiting to be with you for over twenty years." Twenty years he had spent, wondering who she was. It was boggling.

Was this Lucius's way of telling her he loved her? She was stunned to silence. At this moment, she hated Blackburn more than she ever did. Because of the accursed scars she could not feel Lucius's touch…and because he would kill Lucius…

If Lucius was right, and the future could not be altered, she would not have him long. Grief wrenched at her with cruel precision. "All you have to do is not jump in front of that spell."

"There is no doubt in my mind I will. It is predestined."

"No, it isn't!"

The Malfoy mask was on full blast, and she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. _Show one glimpse of an emotion!_, she wanted to shout. _Something to show me what is happening under the surface._

"At least fight for your life, Lucius," she said, and her voice cracked. "Or are you suicidal?"

"There is no changing it, no matter what I do."

"So you won't even try?" She turned her back on him. Tears spilled, and her throat burned from the sobs she held at bay. She was so upset she lost control of her glamour; it blinked in and out, causing a strange effect. Smooth skin. Scarred skin. Smooth skin. Scarred skin. If she didn't compose herself soon it would completely dissolve.

More than once she imagined what it would be like if Lucius ever told her he loved her, but she never imagined it would be like this - ruined by the knowledge that he would soon die, that she could not keep him. "If you care for me you will fight to stay alive so we can be together."

"I'm sorry, Love. That is impossible."

"You _bastard_."

This was the first time she called him a name and his lips didn't twitch.


End file.
